Hair of the Mongoose Fangs of the Wolf
by corvusdraconis
Summary: AU: Sirius Black did something terrible in his fifth year at Hogwarts, and it all had to do with Severus Snape. He made sure Snape met transformed Moony that night in the shack, but it did not end the way he expected. Now, having been bitten by Nagini, Snape realises that he's undergone some changes... again. He also bit the witch trying to save his life. Now what? [HG/SS]
1. So It Ends Until It Doesnt

**[Summary]: AU:** Sirius Black did something terrible in his fifth year at Hogwarts, and it all had to do with Severus Snape. He made sure Snape met transformed Moony that night in the shack, but it did not end the way he expected. [HG/SS]

 **A/N:** Plot Bunny. Had to get it out of my head to make room for everything else. Fellow authors… you know how this goes.

 **Rated M** for delicate sensibilities.

 **Trigger Warning:** talk of rape/horrible thoughts with underaged children because of Fenrir Greyback. He's a horrible excuse for a living creature.

 **Other warnings:** Violence/gore

 **Beta Love** : The Dragon and the Rose and Dutchgirl01

* * *

 **Hair of the Mongoose, Fangs of the Wolf**

 **Chapter One**

 **And So It Ends… Until It Doesn't**

" _I woke up one morning thinking about wolves and realized that wolf packs function as families. Everyone has a role, and if you act within the parameters of your role, the whole pack succeeds, and when that falls apart, so does the pack." —Jodi Picoult_

They say that if you are bitten by a cobra that you will die within thirty minutes due to the venom. The figure goes down to twenty minutes if you are bitten by a black mamba. If you are unfortunate enough to be envenomated by a blue-ringed octopus, that figure goes down to about four to six minutes minutes after your diaphragm stops functioning— no air to the brain, things swiftly go downhill from there. There is a life lesson there somewhere, probably something involving such gems as: Don't lick poison dart frogs. Don't poke blue-ringed octopi with your finger. Don't pick up cone snails on the beach, Don't eat blowfish unless you like playing Russian roulette with your food. Don't eat green potatoes. Don't forget to soak your raw red kidney beans for at least five hours before cooking with them. Don't indulge your inner herbivore by eating rhubarb leaves. And really, don't eat the pits out of stone fruit. Sounds pretty logical to me, but considering how many people I've watched try to blow themselves up with nothing but water, a cauldron, and a wand— Well, I suppose it shouldn't surprise me that much that people frequently do some remarkably stupid things.

Speaking of stupid, I really should be dead. One Dark Lord? Check. One magically-enhanced, homicidal, giant venomous snake? Check. Multiple bites that felt like being punched in the head by a pissed-off Utah raptor in desperate need of a root canal? Check there too.

Realising I was alive was step number one. Knowing where I was was step number two, running neck and neck with the pressure on my bladder which, like most things involving the bladder, always seemed to come on precisely when you least wanted it: the wee hours of the morning on a particularly frigid winter day, five minutes after you leave on a long hike, precisely two seconds after the cat who may or may not be an Animagus finds the perfect moment to tap dance on your kidneys, or just before you reach that moment of perfect, boneless bliss before falling asleep.

I was grown man, or so I had been told, so relieving myself on wherever it was that I had found myself was probably not the best thing I could have done for either my dignity or my peace of mind. Surprisingly, I did indeed have peace of mind, considering my last memory had been a giant snake trying to tenderise me or use me as a punching bag. Both were equally possible. Moving only proved that either option was entirely plausible.

I opened my eyes very slowly. Potter wasn't there with a crooked halo and a out-of-tune heavenly harp. That was a rather glorious start. The Dark Lord wasn't there gloating over me saying, "Like that last one, Severus? You died famously, just like I planned it." Thank Merlin for that. Better yet? Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore wasn't there saying, "Lemon drop, my boy? You performed your last task quite well. Ready for me to come back from the dead now?"

The air smelled like fresh lemons, reminding of the time as a child when I helped my mother clean the house. I had actually enjoyed that time together, as it was the only time my father, Tobias, didn't try to drunkenly blame her for things she hadn't done. It was a crisp, clean scent, not like the smell of Albus' damnable lemon drop breath. The light in the room was dimmed, and I could tell that the blinds were closed. The distinctive light and dark danced on the far wall. Blinds had always been too expensive for my father. He far preferred to spend his money on more booze.

He was the distinct reason why I didn't drink even when I desperately _wanted_ to drink the lingering pain of the Death Eater meetings away. I knew what my father was like when he drank, and I didn't want to risk ever becoming anything like him. If you had known my father like I did, well, you'd surely have done much the same.

The light in the room, or, rather, the lack of it, was just enough to see, and that pleased me. It was, strangely, just how I liked it. I kept the potions classroom just a hair brighter in the hopes that my dunderheaded students didn't mistake their mandrake for marigold petals, but I honestly believe that I could have put in Muggle halogen lamps and most of the class would have failed at simple ingredient identification. Either their nose and/or their brains weren't working, and I am pretty sure both were equally faulty in most of them.

To be fair, I suppose, I would have to admit that most people don't have my finely-tuned sense of smell. It had always been quite sharp, ever since I was little. However, thanks to the workings of one Sirius Black, I had gained a far sharper nose, hearing, and a furry little problem to deal with approximately three times a month. While Black hadn't been the one to turn into a werewolf and bite me, he had deliberately put the plan in motion. To top it off, he had also handily prevented James Potter from preventing me from failing to meet the fate he had assigned to me. Lupin had almost killed me, well, Lupin the werewolf. Lupin himself was utterly mortified by what he had done. He was even angrier with Sirius. They had found James Potter locked in a broom closet with Marlene McKinnon. Both had been heavily dosed with Amortentia.

From what I'd been told by Professor McGonagall as she filled me in at St Mungo's, Lupin had looked like he was going to transform into a werewolf right on the spot. He tore Sirius a new one, yelling at him that they were Animagi so they could keep him company and keep people safe, not arrange for him assassinate people. Dumbledore had had to wade in and keep things from turning into a massive brawl in the middle of his office floor. Somehow, the headmaster managed to salvage the situation without anyone going to Azkaban, and, by some not so minor miracle, the entire school did not find out about my being mauled by a werewolf. As for the unregistered Animagi and the escalating "pranks," those had come to an end. Part of it was that under the terms of their "probation."

I had been taken directly from the hospital wing to the Auror Office, and from there I was assigned a young Auror who barely looked older than I was. His job was apparently to watch over me during the first full moon and confirm that I did, in fact, get attacked by a werewolf. I could have told them that. I had been there, after all.

I ended up studying with my Auror entourage until the next full moon. I spent my first post-bite full moon in a large stone cell with iron bars that looked like it had been borrowed from an old Muggle western movie. I had heard that Lupin had been transferred to a community located in the wilds of Berkshire. I had never heard of it, but until then, I hadn't been a werewolf. Apparently, a village had been created specifically for them, policed by Aurors who were also Animagi. They had jobs, lives, property, and freedom, save for one— all of them were werewolves or were close family members of werewolves. They even had their very own magical school. All of it had been there all along for the use by the victims of werewolf bites for many years prior to my birth. Rumour had it that Lupin's were-hating father, Lyall, had tried his best to shut the place down, and that was the reason Remus hadn't been welcome there at first. However, his attack on me had finally changed their minds, and they decided to allow Remus into their community with the understanding that Lyall would not be permitted to visit under any circumstances and would never have the opportunity to further insult the other werewolf village residents.

They had briefed me on joining that community, which would depend on if whether or not I turned during the next full moon, prepping me for where it was, how it was run, and swearing me to secrecy about it. Secrecy was what kept the victims and their families safe— both from misunderstanding and being found by one Fenrir Greyback. I had no issues swearing to secrecy on that. For all I knew, it was the only place I would be able to live after my change.

Something, however, had changed. I woke the next morning the full moon with Auror Shacklebolt sitting in a chair near my cell, calmly reading a copy of the _Daily Prophet._

* * *

"Good morning, Severus," he greeted, setting the paper down and waving his wand to open the cell. "Hungry?"

"Starving." I wasn't lying. I felt like I wanted to eat an entire hippogriff along with a serving platter of chips. I might even drink the bottle of malt vinegar for an aperitif, lick a block of salt, and then go back to crack open the bones and eat the marrow on toast points. What the _hell_ was wrong with my brain?

"You, my friend, had a very interesting night," Kingsley said, uncovering a tray with the most heavenly-smelling steak and eggs with a double portion of chips, accompanied by all the fixings that would have graced the most luxurious of Christmas breakfasts at Hogwarts.

Kings, surprisingly, didn't even bother to attempt communication with me until I had inhaled everything. I may or may not have licked the plates clean— and the cutlery as well.

I couldn't even remember changing. I remembered reading and doing my homework as I passed time in the cell, talking with Kingsley about families and why we should be able to audition parents before we are born, and the most horrible werewolf in history: Fenrir Greyback. "What happened?" I managed, trying not to look longingly at the empty food tray.

"Unfortunately, my friend," Kingsley said, "You are a werewolf."

I gave him my best arched brow.

"And you are unlike any werewolf I have ever heard of," Kingsley continued, ignoring my expression.

"Do tell," I invited. "Did I break out in polka dots and sparkle?"

Kings snorted his amusement. "You slept through most of the night, woke up once, sniffed me, ate an entire haunch of beef, declared your utter distaste for the flavour of the bars, and then went back to sleep."

I felt my eyebrow rising again. "That doesn't sound like typical wolf behaviour at all."

"No, Severus," Kings replied. "It is not typical _werewolf_ behaviour."

"What is… _typical_ werewolf behaviour?"

"Painful transformation, lots of screaming, throwing yourself at the bars to try and tear me to pieces, and hrm— not a lot of sleeping," Kingsley answered.

I couldn't remember diddly. It must have shown on my face because Kingsley just shook his head.

"I think your situation may help us to help you," Kings said. "I'm not among the higher-ups, but the word on the grapevine is that if you are willing— you may be the key to a great many interesting things. Paid, of course. Plenty of secrets, mysteries, a dash of espionage, and all-you-can-eat beef on moon nights. Oh, and fully paid education, a pretty impressive stipend, and a wonderfully smashing handler."

"Are you trying to recruit me, Kingsley?" I asked.

"Interested, are you?" he replied.

I had been born to a dirt-poor family in Cokeworth. He might as well have been offering me a solid gold statue of my father— created _from_ my drunken lout of a father. "Is there any bacon involved?"

'Every morning with steak and eggs, brother, if you so choose," Kingsley smiled.

It was strange, really. I felt closer to Kingsley in the last month of getting to know him than anyone I had known in— ever. He was open and genuine, yet he was not deluded or naive. He was skilled, but he was also quite humble about it. He was not like Lucius, who would frequently take pleasure in flaunting his family's wealth and greatness just to remind me of my place at the very bottom of the heap. Avery and Mulciber were friends in the way that hungry crocodiles tolerate each other as they wait for a plump wildebeest to trip into their part of the river. Kingsley also had this uncanny ability to fit into any crowd and simply disappear. I had seen him in Muggle clothes one day, and I hadn't even recognised him. Most Wizarding folk fails at Muggle fashion. Even when they try and dress Muggle, they end up looking decades behind. Kings was remarkably observant and adaptable. He would have been the poster child for Slytherin had he come from a "respectable" Pure-blood family.

Kingsley held out his hand.

"Trust a werewolf?" I asked.

"I trust you, Severus," Kingsley said. "You could have torn me to pieces, but you didn't. I trust that. I trust you."

I put my hand in his and clasped it. "You have a deal."

* * *

Ugh, Kingsley. I would have to report to him as soon as I figured out where in blazes I was. It wasn't that I minded, but, I was pretty sure I was going to die on that last mission, and we all had known it. I hadn't served as a spy for one Dark Lord, an ailing manipulative old coot of a Headmaster, and the Ministry morons for Merlin knew how long to not know how to read the signs. It had taken every bit of Slytherin guile I had to get Kingsley to let me do it too. He'd been my best friend and handler for over a decade, almost two. Seeing him care about me had made it easier to do what I needed to do, strangely enough. Knowing there was someone out there who really gave a crap had made a lot of what I did possible— that and the death of Lily.

Despite all of our trying, we couldn't find the Potters to relocate them. Dumbledore had put his faith in the Potters to decide who to make their secret keeper. Lily and James had grown very close after he had been drugged by his best mate. He had turned a new leaf and won her hand trying to make up for all the shite he had done. She never did forgive me. It was probably the worst thing I had ever done— calling her a Mudblood in front of God knows and whoever— but that event had gotten me in with the "right" people for my assignment. I had planned to make it all right after the first war. Kings had the memory vials waiting, but that had never come to pass. What really hurt was that she was willing to forgive Potter but not me. I had been faking it. Potter had not.

For whatever reason they had trusted Wormtail of all people— if you can even call him a person— to keep their secret. Rumour had it they originally wanted Marlene McKinnon to be, as they had become very close, but she was murdered shortly before they intended to approach her. Sirius had apparently straightened up his act enough to tell the Potters he wasn't the right sort to keep a secret for them, and maybe they should have Dumbledore keep it. Albus, however, had denied them, saying he was too high profile. In desperation, perhaps, they relied on Peter Pettigrew. Their fate had been sealed by a chain of epically bad decisions. They should have trusted Frank and Alice Longbottom. They had offered. They had kept their secrets until they had been damaged beyond what even magic could repair. Part of me wondered if Lily would have regretted anything, had she only known.

Kings had said I had just had to stop blaming myself for Lily's choices. She could have forgiven me as I sat outside the Gryffindor Common Room, begging her to forgive my outburst, but she hadn't. While I knew he was right, Kings had given my wolf a entire side of beef that following full moon. My wolf, apparently, used food to placate his feelings— well, my remnant feelings. Who needs ice cream or chocolate? Admittedly, chocolate and ice-cream were more portable and easier to come by without raised eyebrows.

I shifted my thoughts back to the present mystery of "Where in blazes am I, and why can't I remember anything?" It felt worse than when waking up after a Death Eater party with Bellatrix poised above me, just about to pour something nasty over my bits. Forget the Dark Lord. Bellatrix was damn scary. She was scary because you never really knew what she wanted. It changed on whim. The Dark Lord had goals: immortality and the death of Harry Potter, which came back to preserving his immortality. Hell, my last memory was him having Nagini take me out so he could master the Elder Wand. The man had goals. They weren't nice goals, but he had them.

So, why _wasn't_ I very, very dead?

My chances of surviving a large snake and a slicing hex were pretty damned abysmal. I'd gone through some rather exacting tests of my hearing, sense of smell, taste, and even what foods I preferred on a given day. I healed very fast—ridiculously fast, but not _that_ fast. Magical wounds had a rather annoying habit of taking longer to heal without medical magic to assist. There was some irony there, but I was too tired to bother with figuring it out.

My nose was working. I smelled something really good coming from nearby. Bacon, eggs, and toast, if my nose was not hallucinating. There was a old blue and white porcelain water pitcher and basin by the bedside table with a few towels rolled neatly beside. My arms were wrapped in places with bandages, but when I brought my hands to me neck, where I expected the most damage, there was nothing. I fussed with the bandages, checking under them for damage. Raw, but pink, healing skin lay underneath. I smelled the liniment, and my eyebrows raised. It was one of my potions I had once thrown out into the class in a challenge to finish it to avoid doing three feet of parchment about the uses of comfrey in potions. Only two people had succeeded at it: Draco, whom I had taught the recipe and drilled it into his head until he knew it forwards and backwards in my attempt to keep the boy alive to reach his fifteenth birthday and one Hermione Granger— resident know-it-all and determined knowledge-monger. To be fair, she wasn't dealing in the trade and sale of knowledge as much as she was one to acquire it by any means possible. It just so happened that her house-mates were all too eager to cash in to her knowledge so they didn't have to put forth any real effort. _That_ had been the real reason I had so often punished her and made her look the idiot in class. I had tried to make her look a bit less tempting in the help department, but unfortunately, she went and helped them anyway. Bloody Gryffindors.

One thing was for sure, this was not the mansion of the Malfoys, not that anyone would want to go back there after Voldemort had deigned to make it his primary base of operations. If my instincts were reliable, Lucius and Narcissa would probably raze the place to the ground or sell it off piece by piece before purchasing themselves a nice "small" cottage in France. Lucius had finally realised the truth I had been trying to tell him since I'd fallen into the Death Eaters. Like a true Slytherin, one did not just tell Lucius what he needed to know, you had to make it seem like it was all _his_ idea. Slowly, he had come to the realisation that the Dark Lord didn't give a flying fig about any of his minions. The Pure-blood agenda had been a mere ruse to get his shot at immortality and to build his army. He had used everyone. The mighty Pure-bloods had been duped by a half-blood into doing his dirty work for him. By the time any of them realised the truth, if they could bring themselves to admit it at all, it was far too late to repent. There was always those like Bellatrix that would have taken great pleasure in gutting you for the further glory of her lord. She would probably lick her bloody fingers afterwards too. That thought was not comforting at all. I really hoped she hadn't survived the war. Hell, I really hoped the war was over. I'd given Potter the memories as Albus had wanted, and I'd given my life as Tom Riddle had wanted. Now, if I could just get my mouth around that mouthwatering bacon and eggs, I would get what I really wanted.

I was a simple man with simple pleasures. Ever since I'd turned, my pleasures had centered around my stomach. Strange that the hunger was so strong on this particular morning. The full moon wasn't for another few weeks. Hiding my lunar activities has been somewhat of an interesting dance. The Aurors had arranged for me to be detained officially each month to cover for me, and it has worked well. No one, not even Umbridge or Fudge knew the section of the Ministry I worked in. Kingsley, officially, was just an Auror. I was, officially, a hated professor of Hogwarts. Go me.

I used the towels to wash up, sensing nothing out of place in the water. My wand— my poor, abused, gloriously loyal wand, lay by the wash basin. By some miracle it was still in one piece. My robes, which I noted with some embarrassment were not on my person, were neatly folded and cleaned by the bedside. Someone had apparently mended them, as they looked pristine, and washed them. I could smell the light scent of the Persil laundry detergent. No, this was definitely not any place the Malfoys would be.

Someone was thorough. A few sets of underthings were folded neatly, smelling of the same clean scent. There was even another set of robes nearby, and a set of cassual Muggle clothes. Perhaps they had no idea what I preferred, or perhaps they simply wished me to have options. Kings had always teased me that I wouldn't know what to do with a pair of Muggle jeans. I had a tendency to approach anything of colour with the same wary attitude given to a large saltwater crocodile.

I decided to throw all sanity into the wind and put on the Muggle clothes. There was a deep purple shirt that was almost black, and the trousers were black, so it wasn't a far stretch from my normal attire. I just wouldn't have to worry about someone calling me a bat as I walked past.

I tucked my wand away and realised someone had kindly altered them to house a wand up the sleeve. Considerate.

There was a knock on the door, light enough that had I been sleeping, it wouldn't have woken me.

"Breakfast, Professor Snape," I heard. "It's waiting out in the kitchen."

Professor? Hrm.

Curiosity, the bane of my entire life, reared its ugly head. Hunger, too, demanded my immediate attention. There was also the matter of—

"The washroom is to the right as you step out."

Well, then. I suppose I had no excuse now but to open the door and figure out just what had happened to me.

* * *

"Ms Granger?" I felt the name lodge in my throat as my gaze went from her to no other but Kingsley, who was wearing a weary yet relieved expression on his face.

"Hermione, please," the witch said, gesturing to the massive plate she had fixed for me. Eggs, bacon, and rare steak waited for me. I was drooling without even intending to.

Kingsley was there, so I knew the food wasn't poisoned, but a part of me wondered if Granger had contemplated doing so, considering our past interactions had never been particularly amicable, to put it mildly. My stomach told me that I was being overly suspicious, and my hands dutifully shoved the forkfuls of food in before I realised I had done so. Part of me was somewhat embarrassed. Kings was used to this, but Granger— well, I'm pretty sure that she was convinced I survived on bitterness and spite alone. Damn, if I wasn't really, _really_ hungry.

"Healing makes him hungry," Kingsley informed Granger, and I shot a quick glance at him. Who died and made _him_ all loose lipped? He was never one to—

That's when I saw it: a pattern of "freckles" just under the hairline, placed so very subtly on her skin. She was an agent— just like me— and if the pattern freckles was any indicator, she had been recruited much as I had been. Her normally voluminous mane of bushy hair would have covered it quite extensively, but for once, it seemed curly, yet not overly so. Her eyes were filled with weariness, the sort of look I knew well from my other peers after they debriefed from their missions. It was the sort of expression that came only from seeing the worst things that the world could throw at you and having had to face that reality. I knew she had seen death and survived. I knew, without even looking at her, that her body would be covered with scars. She would most likely know about a hundred or more ways to field dress a wound, how to make emergency potions from wild herbs and a common drinking vessel, and she could probably quickly disappear into a crowd, never to be seen again. I knew that her bones had been broken numerous times and had to be mended. She had probably had her shoulder dislocated and her knee shattered. I knew all this because _I_ had. All the training that had led to my getting my own set of "freckles" set just under my hair had done much the same to me. The hand-waving know-it-all was now but a distant memory. I wondered… if the annoyingly eager-to-please little swot I remembered was ever really there to begin with.

How long, I wondered, had she been working, just as he had, fighting with all she had to keep Harry Potter alive?

"Five years," Hermione said, answering me without fanfare. She took a cloth and cleaned away the makeup that he knew she wore specifically in that area to fade her "freckles." As she did so, I saw the full designation.

She was elite unit, like me. She outranked quite a few people who were considerably older than she was. She was also certified to enter the Department of Mysteries to Danger Level Five. I wondered where she would be by the time she reached _my_ age. I saw the spots indicating that she was a Occlumens and Legilimens as well. All of us had our ranks magically marked upon us so we could never lose our identification. Thing is, they weren't precisely magical, save for how they were placed there. To anyone outside our organisation, they were natural, and unless you were in the organisation, you couldn't read the marks. Even if you were the Minister for Magic— you wouldn't know one agent from another.

There were actually a number of divisions, each in charge of different tasks and areas of the Wizarding world. The Unspeakables, for example, were exclusive to the Department of Mysteries. Others were deeply embedded into Muggle affairs. Others, like myself, were involved in espionage and protection of high-profile targets. "High-profile" included people and events that could change the world for the worse, such as Harry Potter. The death of the Minister or even the Queen was considered annoying but not quite as life-altering as if, say, the entire world were to come under the thumb of a psychotic magic-wielding deviant.

"Why do I get the feeling that you were only five years on paper?" I asked, feeling like there was far too many credentials on a witch who had been serving for five years.

"Time turner," Hermione said with a weary smile. "I think I'm in my late twenties if I were to count up all the time I spent turning for my studies at the Ministry and the time I spent taking multiple classes at Hogwarts."

"You were turning classes as well?" I couldn't help but be a little boggled by that. Merlin, when had the girl ever _slept_?

"I had a very tight schedule. I timed my turns at Hogwarts very specifically, keeping a log in my head. Then at night, when all my studies was done, I turned again, coming back to train at the office, and then once more sleep in the sleep and recovery room before going back to Hogwarts."

It was all quite impressive, I had to admit. I had first begun my training shortly after Lupin had sunk his teeth into me. It had been much the same, since I had two more years of school to take on before I was able graduate. She had, apparently, been recruited rather earlier than myself, perhaps due to her becoming close to Potter starting part-way through her first year at Hogwarts. Like most things, everything was buried in layers of "need-to-know". Once the mission had been completed, we tended to share the tales of our exploits with each other. We called them debriefing detox parties. Amongst our own, we could speak freely, provided we weren't on a assignment. I believe I had the record for the longest assignment in progress. If Granger's presence here with Kingsley was any indicator, then we had _both_ fulfilled our objectives.

"Unless Kingsley is far more talented than even _he_ wants us to believe," I said, "something must have happened to your handler."

Granger's face abruptly went grim. "Moody. I debriefed with Kings."

"I'm sorry," I found myself saying. Moody and I had quite a rocky relationship. While he trusted Kingsley, he had never trusted me. He had me tagged as a Death Eater long before I'd taken the Mark to keep my cover. I suppose I would never know the real reason why. Moody had taken his distrust and bias to the grave. Kings had remarked that I played my role far too well. When your cover depends on everything thinking you are a bigoted and loyal Death Eater, well, I couldn't exactly be much nicer to him. We had never once met back at the Ministry. There would have been no way he could have met up with me because he was training and being Granger's handler. I had still been knee-deep in man-eating venomous tentaculus. My epiphany must have shown clearly on my face.

"Yes, I knew Professor Moody wasn't the _real_ Alastor," the witch said with soft sigh. "I had to pretend everything was just fine. I was completely entrenched. There was nothing else I could do. I informed the backups with the standard missing-person protocols, but I couldn't break cover."

Cover was everything. We had found the real Alastor Moody locked in a cell inside a cleverly-disguised chest in Barty's quarters. Fortunately, he had to keep the Auror alive in order to keeping impersonating him via polyjuice. That had been a particularly dreadful year— the year the Dark Lord had returned and an innocent Cedric Diggory had died to Wormtail's killing curse.

It had _not_ been the Light's finest hour.

I understood having to preserve cover well enough. When things got really crazy between Albus and Tom, my check-ins with Kingsley were kept very few and far between. I would leave him updates by owl drop in cypher. Our cypher looked like tasty recipes from around the world. If anyone intercepted it, they got a great recipe for fondue. The Unspeakables apparently did much the same only with gardening tips. We all had our things.

"Thank you," I said at last, finally gaining my speech again. I tugged on my sleeve that hid my wand and gestured to the food— well, what had been food before I licked the plate clean. Stunning manners, Severus, really. Granger cracked a small smile and nodded.

"How are you feeling, Severus?" Kings asked. He was wearing his more colourful African robes that day, making me think hummingbirds were going to swarm in and try to stick their beaks into him. Yet another reason to favour black—

"Like I was caught in a stampeding herd of angry hippogriffs," I admitted. I caught the scent of citrus and sandalwood with just a hint of nightshade. It was distracting in how wonderfully those scents seemed to fit together.

"You've survived to the end of the war, my friend," Kingsley said with a small sigh of relief. "Though for you, it is the second time." He handed me a paper that declared the end of the second Wizarding War.

Potter was all over the front page, as was to be expected. A disturbing picture of my own stern countenance stared back at me.

 _ **Snape Cleared by Hero Harry Potter!**_

Well, _that_ was rather unexpected.

 _ **Heroine Hermione Granger Requests Privacy in Aftermath of War**_

Well, I didn't blame her there. I'd like to have some of my own after the last twenty years.

 **Fenrir Greyback Eludes Authorities After Attacking Orphanage During Victory Celebration.**

Fenrir was still Fenrir. He was also a bloody cockroach that needed to be stomped on and burned with his ashes scattered to the four corners of Creation. What? I'm thorough.

 **Trollop Hermione Granger Denies Fellow Hero Ronald Weasley Marriage**

I didn't think it was possible, but it seemed that Skeeter loved to hate Granger more than myself.

"One might get the impression that Skeeter has a grudge against you, Ms Granger," I said.

Granger eyed the paper with a slight roll of her eyes. "It's Hermione, please Professor Snape."

"It seems rather strange for you to call me Professor Snape and you to insist on your given name," I replied, arching a brow. "It's Severus, if you can find it within yourself to forgive our rather poor history."

Hermione arched a brow, showing a sort of familiar detachment that I recognised all too well. "Can you forgive a hand waving, book reciting, know-it-all swot?"

I mirrored her eyebrow raise. "I suppose we shall both have to reacquaint to know the person behind the mask— Hermione."

Hermione's expression seemed to relax. "Severus," she said, tilting her head in a small bow of respect.

This Granger— Hermione— was calm and pragmatic. I had the feeling that it would be strange for a while, trying to balance our histories against the real person underneath. My mask had been decades in the making with only Kingsley as my main contact while out on assignment. There were times I knew that my mask had become the man. It was far too easy to slip into its familiar embrace. Gran— Hermione— had been trained and molded by Alastor Moody. Only the gods knew how much that had shaped her youth. It was amazing she even wanted to sit in the same room as me without wanting to hex me into the flames of the Afterlife out of sheer principle.

I had the sneaky suspicion that she had absorbed every little bit of knowledge Alastor had to give. The man had been unnervingly talented in tracking down Dark wizards and witches, even if he did have a serious grudge against me for some reason.

I extended my hand to her in a peace gesture. She was a fellow agent. Chances are we would end up working together, and I wasn't the socially inept heathen most thought I was. The moment I took her hand and brought it to my lips in the more formal and respectable greeting, I realised this is where that delectable scent of citrus, sandalwood, and nightshade was coming from. As a werewolf, scents were something that made or broke your opinion of someone. You might find that odd if you happen to recall that a lot of canines go around sniffing each other's rear ends and rolling in shite, but for the record, no, I do not find steaming piles of shite attractive.

I had a discombobulated moment when my mind kind of went off to lunch without me. I wanted to rub my face against her hand and bask in that mixture of heavenly scent— the perfect blend of sandalwood and citrus with just a hint of nightshade flower. It took everything I had to pull up and not make the gesture extremely awkward.

What the hell was wrong with me? Decades of control seemed like a lie as my traitorous body wanted to make like Minerva in a sunbeam and roll over Granger like bed of wolf-mint. I could almost feel my wolf ears sticking up from my hair and my tail beating like a propeller. The hell? Not once— not even once since I had been mauled by Lupin had I had the sense of my wolf being interested in someone. Hell, _I_ hadn't be interested in someone in all that time. One whiff of Lily's body care products had sent my nose into overdrive and put the kibosh on any semblance of physical desire I might have harboured for her. That was saying something. I was a typical teenager, after all. I wasn't immune to the wiles of my hormone-infested body. Lily wasn't the worst, either. Many of her peers wore perfumes and other such heavily-scented monstrosities. They might as well have dipped themselves in toxic waste to my inner wolf.

It dawned on me that Hermione had said she had already debriefed with Kingsley, so for however long I had been out for the count, she was probably not hiding her scent with the scent neutralising soap and specialised charms we used out in the field. We were both in the espionage division. We weren't all Alastor Moody, but we did not a lot of habitual things to keep from being tracked easily. It was not surprise, now that I thought about it, that I had never noticed the scent on her before. It was probably a good thing, if this was going to be my instinctive response every time I caught a whiff of her very intoxicating scent.

Hermione was trembling, her eyes wide with confusion. Her teeth chattered audibly as she sweat. At first I thought she was having an odd reaction to me, but then I realised something was wrong. She shot a look to Kingsley, and hurried to stand up, looking as though she were going to find a place to hurl post-haste. But, as she stood, her legs gave out on her, and she pitched forward.

Suddenly, I was holding her, cradling her to my body as she shivered uncontrollably. Her body was hot— as hot as mine thanks to my pseudo-wolf metabolism, only it seemed hers was even more so. Even as she shivered against me, I could tell she was suppressing her instinctive desire to make sound.

A good little soldier.

"It's okay," I managed to say. "You're safe. Don't waste energy trying to be brave." We were trained to be strong— to survive, but if I had woken up here, then it was safe house, and that meant she was safe here. I really hoped I wasn't lying.

She made soft whimpering sounds as her body jerked and twitched. I felt an overwhelming need to keep her close, pressing my body to hers so she could feel some sort of friendly presence, ignoring the part of my brain that was asking me why the hell she mattered when she had never mattered before.

There was a sound like the buzzing of bees in my head.

"Severus!" I heard Kingsley say.

I snapped out of my distraction, my lips curling back from my teeth, flashing them at Kings, but Kings took it in stride. "Her bed is that way," Kings directed, pointing down the far hall.

It took a moment for me to process what he was saying before I realised what he wanted me to do. I pulled Hermione to me and carried her to her room, hoping there was some indicator of what room was hers.

I needn't have worried. The room was much like my chambers at Hogwarts. One part library, one part bedroom, and small laboratory near the window for the best ventilation— a luxury I never had at Hogwarts while living in the dungeon. The house was Muggle, but I had never been here before. It did not have the typical wards of a safe house, but the house had wonderful, lived-in feel to it. It was odd for a house that didn't contain a family,

I pulled the duvet back and lay her down on the bed, pulling it back over her. She was chilled, radiating heat, but shedding it almost immediately. The blankets were soaked with her perspiration within minutes, and they weren't providing sufficient warmth at all. Her scent. Gods, her scent. I wanted to do some very primitive things— such as spraying my urine in the corners of the house to mark my territory, moving on to hunt down the biggest buck I could find, and coughing up the best pieces to impress—what the hell was _wrong_ with me?

I cast a warming charm as I dried out the soaked bed linens. I pressed her shivering body close to me, hoping that my own body heat would help her where the blankets could not. Her teeth instantly stopped chattering as she instinctively clung to my body, her hands fisting in my shirt as she tried to meld into me. Chalk one up for lycanthrope blast furnace body heat. She stopped shivering violently, and the soft whimpers she was making calmed into gentle sighs of absolute contentment.

I cast Kingsley a rather frantic look. This had to look decidedly awkward. I was quite a bit older than she was— well, perhaps not as much had she not time-turned her way through her education. Still. I had still taught her when she was eleven, and I hadn't exactly come to grips with her being both an agent and my peer. She was clinging to me as though I were her personal life preserver, and my inner, furrier self, was very, very happy about it.

Kingsley, unflappable as always, simply nodded to me. He knew something. Something had happened after I was mauled by a magical snake, and he knew what it was. I'd ask him— demand even— if I didn't have this almost uncontrollable urge to nuzzle this witch in my arms and curl my body around her, dig her a nice deep den in the cool earth and guard— _damn_ it all!

I dug my nails into my palms even as I held her. Part of me refused to let her go, especially as when I tried, Hermione whimpered as her body started to shiver uncontrollably all over again. The more distressed she was, the stronger her scent, and the stronger her scent became, the more irrational _I_ became.

I may not be the person she thought I was. She may not have been the annoying student I thought _she_ was, but I was not going to have to explain why I was trying to rub myself over her body when she woke up! I also had no idea why I was trying to rub myself all over her either, so that conversation was definitely going to be a bust.

I had been around countless people, agents and not. I had been around a great many werewolves, no thanks to Fenrir, and none of them had been even remotely attractive to me. My inner wolf turned up his nose like Lucius Malfoy to the common rabble and disdainfully looked the other way. I had found Fenrir to be utterly detestable, and his people either utterly broken or insanely fanatical. Neither were qualities I had ever found attractive. The few times I had visited the secret werewolf colonies, none of the werewolves there had ever caught my eye, not as a human and not my inner wolf. I had taught Granger for upwards of six years and never once felt this deep, compelling drive to hover over her like some sort of overprotective guardian beast.

Kingsley and I had a very set rapport of trust. I trusted him, and apparently my wolf trusted him too. Because of that, Kings could get away with things that no one else could. He could, for example, sit around me during my moon-nights, and only suffer getting slobbered on and having to listen to my lupine song of the evening or sulky complaints about the unpleasant taste of the cell's iron bars.

Eventually they had made me a nice little habitat to spend my moon nights, but it usually ended up with Kingsley flat on his back and me pinning him down with my overly large wolf head. I was apparently insufferably sociable as a wolf— to Kings at least. I ignored other werewolves, showing a strange disdain for most of them that mirrored my opinion of most of my fellow students at Hogwarts.

They had tried to introduce me, once, to other werewolves when Kingsley was around, and they had immediately tried to attack him through the bars. I had torn them apart. Sending them packing to the back of the enclosure with their tails submissively between their legs. According to Kings, I had set my butt up against the bars so I could feel him there, as he was every moon night, and he scratched that special spot that made my back leg beat a tattoo on the ground. I didn't let any other werewolf anywhere _near_ him. Kingsley had an unshakable trust in me and my wolf because of that. I may not have been my usual potion master self stuck in a wolf's body, but my wolf was obviously capable of much higher functioning thought than the violent beasts who shared my moon nights. And, because Kingsley fed me very well every night and day, my strength only grew, while the smaller, bickering werewolves tore each other apart over mere scraps.

Kingsley had let me see his Pensieve memories a few times. I truly did not act like a typical werewolf. Other werewolves would eventually, after I tore them apart, come crawling back as devoted supplicants, even willing to tolerate Kingsley if that was what I wanted, but I drove them away, apparently not satisfied with their post-mauling regrets. Perhaps my wolf did not trust them to keep Kingsley safe from themselves, let alone any other potential threats. I have no idea. My wolf apparently valued Kingsley as one of his own, as pack, and that afforded him my utmost protection. Eventually my size became massive, towering over the typical werewolves like a fully grown bull mastodon over a modern baby elephant. Kingsley often joked that I was big enough to ride. My changes came easily in my sleep, quickly and painlessly. Sometimes I would wake up covered in dried mud, bits of grass, and other such debris, but it was nothing a nice shower couldn't fix. I would apparently wait quite patiently for my designated haunch of beef, wait for Kingsley to set it down and step away, and then I would promptly tear into it like I hadn't eaten in _months_. Meanwhile, in other enclosures, where the other agent-werewolves were contained, they had to carefully levitate the food in to avoid someone getting hurt… or worse.

Kingsley often mused that I was far too alpha to be burdened with mindless violence. Everything I did was for a purpose and reason, and he said my wolf was very much like me as a human: precise and methodical. While he often had conversations with me, and apparently I listened, he never had an impression that my wolf understood as much as he enjoyed the company. Kingsley had provided me with both a cover and a purpose. More importantly, he had kept Dumbledore off my back about being a werewolf. Rumour had it Albus was trying to groom a werewolf to be his liaison into Fenrir's pack— hopefully turn the weakest wolves over to the Light side, but Kings had protected me from that by scheduling me for "a special Ministry program for abused, victimised, and underprivileged magical children."

All of this came back to my not having the slightest clue as to why one Agent Hermione Granger was provoking this very out-of-character intense protectiveness. I was protective over Kings, but I had never wanted to snuggle him and hurl up food for him.

He and I are probably both thankful for that.

"Something is wrong with me, Kings," I told him, even as I cradled the feverish young witch against my body.

Kingsley gave me a rather resigned smile. "No, my old friend," he replied gently. "I think it is finally going _right_."

I narrowed my eyes at him, but I also knew that Kingsley saw things most other people missed. That was his particular talent. He wasn't a seer as much as he saw truth, and in my book that meant more than some dotty prophecy. "Kings, tell me _exactly_ what happened."

Our relationship had always been truthful. Unlike other handlers, who often told their charges just enough to get the job done, I could always rely on Kings to tell me the whole unvarnished truth. He didn't just stop halfway through the summary and shove me off to come back later. I think that is why our relationship worked. No one, until Kings, had ever been so reliable to me. If anyone had the power to be my true "master" it had been Kingsley— not Dumbledore and certainly not the Dark Lord.

"Shortly after you met with Voldemort and he set the serpent on you, Potter, Weasley, and Hermione came upon you. If you recall, you gave your memories to Harry so he could complete his ultimate mission."

I nodded. "I remember up to that point," I said, confirming. I never got angry with Kings for confirming what I knew and didn't. It was better than being left scratching my head later wondering if I had somehow missed something.

"Misters Potter and Weasley left to continue the quest, but Hermione remained behind to tend to you. That was when she saw your "freckles" for the first time," Kingsley explained. "She knew she had to do everything in her power to save you, and so she did. Nagini's venom, however, complicated things. She poured a slew of things down your throat, performed Muggle CPR, then pounded a bezoar into powder with a rock, mixed it with purified water, and then siphoned it down your throat with her own mouth. You healed, outwardly, but the venom— whatever magic that snake had been imbued with— had taken root inside you." Kingsley trailed off, staring out the window to watch the birds eagerly nibbling seeds off the feeder.

"You transformed, Severus," Kingsley explained after a while. "She thought you were having a seizure and fought to keep you from smashing your head against the floorboards. She placed a strap in your mouth so you wouldn't bite your tongue. She had no idea whatsoever that you were shifting. It wasn't a full moon, besides, even if she _had_ known."

"Kings—" I trailed off and looked at him hard. "What are you trying to tell me?"

"She tried so hard to hold you down, Severus," Kingsley finally said, "and then you turned right there in her arms."

There was more to it, I knew. Kingsley's face was grave. I knew I had to wait. That was the thing about Kingsley. If I was patient, he would tell all. I just had to be.

Kingsley sat in the chair beside the bed, slowly reached over to Hermione's blouse and gently pulled the collar down to expose her collarbone.

Perfect scars in the form of wolf teeth were pink and healing on her shoulder.

I had bitten her. The fever— her body was succumbing to the change.

The wolf who had managed not to bite anyone in all my years as a werewolf, had bitten a witch trying to save my life.

Utter despair filled me. I could never be trusted again. I couldn't trust myself again.

How was this even _possible_? Full moon wasn't even for another few weeks yet!

"The venom, Severus," Kingsley said. "Something having to do with what Voldemort did to his familiar— his Horcrux—induced a non-lunar change. Hermione said that after it happened, and you had fully shifted, the wolf was clearly apologetic. You were _not_ violent. You did _not_ attack her. In fact, when the Death Eaters came to deal with your body, you defended her ferociously. You tore the bastards apart and then lay your head down calmly in her lap. You let her Apparate you here, to this house. You followed her around all night, and it was only when you finally slept and changed back that she tended your wounds and sent her Patronus to me."

Kingsley smiled. "She had no idea I was your handler. She called me to debrief for herself. She doesn't blame you at all, Severus. Your change was completely involuntary. Neither you nor the wolf was in control."

Kings looked at Hermione with a tender expression. "She is an exceptionally strong witch. Only now did she finally succumb to the bite. Now, only after she was satisfied you were safe, did she finally let her guard down."

I had to stare a little. This petite witch had obviously harboured a great deal of strength beneath her facade of being merely Harry Potter's faithful bookworm friend. "You healed her bite?" I asked.

Kings shook his head. "No, Severus. You licked it clean and it instantly healed." He paused, rubbing his chin. "She said you doted on her all night long, following her around. You polished off half the contents of her fridge, by the way."

"This is… _her_ home?"

"Her parents' home," Kings corrected. "We moved them out when we discovered that the Death Eaters were preparing to attack. They are currently living in a new place in Australia under the names of Wendell and Monica Wilkins. They gave this place to her, hoping that she 'gets married and puts all of this war nonsense behind her, preferably giving them a few grandbabies down the line'," Kings recited.

I couldn't help but snort.

"She plans to make this place a safe house," Kings said. "Once things settle down and all. All that fame and rigamarole, as she put it."

"Will she be able to keep it?" I asked, concerned. "If she should end up in one of the werewolf communities—"

"That will depend on her first change," Kingsley said with a sigh. "Much as it did with you."

I winced. I had been the only werewolf they knew of that didn't mindlessly attack humans after their change— there was something about humans that triggered something in the werewolf. That is, it triggered it any werewolf other than myself. Her chances were very small. The werewolf communities were not a death sentence. The majority of weres there were happy. Hell, Lupin had even found himself a mate and now had a daughter named Cynthia, at least that was what I had heard last. The grapevine said she was quite the handful. He owled me every Christmas, sending me chocolate as an apology for that fateful night his wolf had tried his best to murder me. Thing is, it was not exactly safe to go it alone as a werewolf. She very well could do it, seeing as she was still an agent as I was, but most werewolves preferred the company of their own kind. It drove them to do stupid things like join Fenrir Greyback rather than be alone. Fenrir, of course, relied on that to be the self-appointed alpha of his werewolf pack.

One of my unofficial jobs as the werewolf that wasn't quite like the rest, was beating the everliving daylights out of captured Greyback werewolves that refused to cooperate. They did nothing to the human, save incarceration, until the moon night. Then, they would place them in my habitat. By the time they pulled the werewolf out the next morning, they would sing like a lark in springtime and try to lick my boots, almost quite literally.

I asked Kings what I did to them, and his reply was always, "they never fail to take the first shot, but you, my friend, always finish the fight."

Most of Fenrir's wolves were one of two main types: the ultra submissive, broken spirits and those who willingly, nay, enthusiastically embraced the madness and violence. The submissives easily begged the Aurors to help them, relocate them, and keep them away from Fenrir. The violent ones, or the ones we called the lieutenants, required more graphic reminders of how things truly worked in Fenrir's twisted werewolf society.

Thing is, once you got the wolf to submit, the human was easy. They were so fused to their wolf, that once the wolf gave in, the human always followed suit. Fenrir had programmed them that way, nay, had brutally beaten it into them. He really had no one to blame but himself when a larger, stronger wolf beating the living crap out of them caused them to promptly throw in the proverbial towel. Ironically, Fenrir had never found out about _my_ wolf. It was almost as if my wolf was perfectly camouflaged by my already intimidating human half.

I _never_ fought my wolf. We seemed to always be perfect agreement on what we wanted, who to protect, and who to tear to pieces. I rarely ever remembered who I tore to pieces, but I usually agreed when Kings told me later that it was a good call on the wolf's part. I was the only werewolf they allowed out with my handler for that same reason. Until Hermione, my wolf had never shown a desire to follow anyone around but Kingsley.

What did that mean?

Had good old Albus truly known about my partnership with Kingsley, he may have had second thoughts about some of his decisions, or perhaps he would have continued with his courting of Remus Lupin to persuade him to lure the other werewolves to the Light. To this day, even now that Albus lying long cold in his tomb, I along with many others still have no idea what he was really planning for his much-vaunted "greater good."

He had me murder him for that same greater good. Part of me wondered if it was for truly for his cause or if he was simply afraid of suffering through the deadly curse he had taken upon himself. It had taken a solid month to get the proper channels to approve the "murder" of Albus Dumbledore and get all of the pertinent memories sorted and sealed away in vials before it happened. Apparently, Harry Potter had decided I was a hero, so all my purported sins were forgiven even without presenting the evidence, but had we not been prepared, who knows where I would be now— Azkaban, most likely.

My doubt rose up again. "She couldn't _possibly_ be okay—"

"Severus," Kingsley said, his tone changing into the same sort of rumble that made my wolf slump, knowing he had done something uncalled for like marking his favourite rug or chewing up his favourite quill. "She really is okay with it. I doubt she woke up in the morning saying 'Wow, today would be a great day to be infected with lycanthropy,' but she is fine with what happened. She was far more worried that _you_ would be okay."

Hermione was finally asleep, and it took every bit of my willpower to tuck her in and remove her clinging embrace from my person. Even if I did feel like I had just ripped off my own leg and left it in the bed. My wolf was definitely _not_ happy with me at all. This was our first serious disagreement. I could feel him pacing inside my head. There was a deep-seated need in the wolf to stay close by her side. I prayed that she wouldn't stir and make that noise that would have me come undone all over again.

It wasn't that my wolf wanted to rut with her, per se. Hell, it wasn't that _I_ did. We wanted to rub our body against hers and let her know we were there and she was safe. We wanted to share our warmth, groom her face, nip her gently with our teeth— _ARGH!_

I stood up, forcing control over my body.

Kingsley and I walked back out to the living room, with me digging my nails even deeper into my palms to keep myself from bounding back to Hermione and wrapping myself around her like a furry octopus. _Merlin, Severus. This is worse than when you were a teenager and could blame your raging hormones._

"Kerfuffle," Kingsley called out.

 _Pop._

A young house-elf appeared dressed in what I believe was the first full set of proper house-elf clothing. "Yes, Master Kingshlee?"

Kingsley arched a brow. "Tea please, for myself and Severus."

"Kerfuffle is honoured to serve," the young elf said, disappearing. She appeared a minute later with a tray of tea, biscuits, sugar, and cream.

"Thank you, Kerfuffle," Kings said, taking the tray. The house-elf smiled broadly and disappeared with another _pop_.

My confusion must have been showing because Kings grinned at me. "They are all paid in cloth and sewing supplies and they make their own clothing as payment for their work. They are allowed to pick two days to be their time off, and they get to decide if they wish to work on holidays. There are many that work here, but they often refuse to take days off even though the appreciate being offered the option. This house became a sort of halfway house for house-elves who had lost their homes and families, thanks to the war. They were so grateful to have someplace to call home, Hermione didn't have the heart to say no to them all."

"Is that why this place feels so lived in?" I asked.

Kings nodded. "They tend everything, usually when Hermione is away so she doesn't feel guilty that they are always working. Each has found a niche they like— garden, attic, cellar, or whatever. Hermione gave them permission to decorate and make the attic theirs, and from what I've heard, if you stick your head up there it's like Christmas all year round. I think their favourite game is how much they can clean with Hermione around and have her not notice."

I felt the corner of my mouth turn upward. Despite my knowing the real Hermione was something I really didn't know, the entire situation with the house-elves seemed very Hermione to me. Insisting on fair treatment and having house-elf holidays was just, well, Hermione. I did know, even from such a short time together, that Hermione was probably the most pragmatic and forgiving individual out there. If what Kingsley said was true, and the man was not a liar nor a blind twit, Hermione had already forgiven me for biting her and had accepted all of what that entailed. She also had a history of forgiving that witless red-headed menace far too many times to count, but I was still on the fence as to whether that was purely for show or her sincere compassion showing through. Knowing Kingsley, he had probably already outlined, in great detail, all of what being a werewolf would mean for her, just as he had to me so very long ago. He was an old hand out it now.

"How many house-elves are here anyway?" I dared to ask.

"Hrm," Kingsley said, thinking. "There are at least twelve elves who are always here, as in they refuse to leave Hermione ever. The only thing that will make them leave is if Hermione moves. Three are in love with this house and promise to stay with it no matter who is here. The rest are either refugees or staying until they find a new home and family to serve. There are maybe ten or twelve here right now. They banished themselves to the cellar and garden. If you look out back, you'll see magnificent gardens the likes of which Muggle royalty could only dream of. I think they put one hell of an undetectable extension charm on the land. I walked for a good hour out there and never hit the fence."

"Impressive," I admitted. I had no idea house-elves could do that. Rooms, yes, but gardens? I suppose it was logical. Diagon Alley managed to fit in an alley after all.

"I discussed this with Hermione while you were sleeping," Kingsley said. "Now that Fudge has resigned, Scrimgeour is dead, and Pius Thicknesse in Mungo's with permanent Imperius-induced brain damage, my caretaker Ministry position has been upgraded to that of the actual Minister for Magic."

"My condolences," I quipped with some amusement.

Kingsley gave me that look that plainly told me to stuff it. "Since I believe you will probably not want to break in another handler, I was thinking of having you and Hermione join me as the co-heads of my new Ministry Guard. You will use the same skill set, rate a substantial pay increase, and you will help me gut the Ministry and root out the last of the Death Eaters and sympathisers still lurking in the place. I will need your help in creating some tests or perhaps questions for under Veritaserum or whatever you two can devise that might be even better— but the main goal is to clean out the Ministry of Voldemort's old followers and sympathisers."

Rooting out conspiracy? I think my wolf ears were showing.

"You will answer to me alone," Kings said. "We will all stand before whatever test you craft and submit it into the memory files. Then, it will be up to you to decide how you want it to be distributed."

I felt a rather evil smile slowly spreading across my face. "You always knew _just_ how to sweet talk me, Kings," I said.

Kingsley grinned. "Excellent."

Our tea finished, Kings excused himself to prepare dinner, having discovered the joys of cooking with the house-elves and having found it to be utterly fascinating, or so he told me. I, however, decided that a quick shower was definitely in order. Hermione's scent was all over me, and I didn't trust myself to wear it and end up having my wolf suddenly decide to take things into his own paws. It had never happened before, but I could still feel the insistent tug in my mind— the drive to return to her side.

Yes, a shower was definitely in order.

* * *

The Dark Lord had ordered his people to leave Rita Skeeter alone, and while I was not one of his human Death Eaters, the rule had applied to me and my pack. For the longest time, I wondered why, and I finally realised the reason. Rita Skeeter could find people and dig up all the things no one wanted her to know. She was warp and twist it into something even worse than what it was, leaving her victims defamed and untrusted, while she remained the voice of the uncensored "truth." She was also a bulldog, which was somewhat of an admirable trait for a human. Better yet, she had a grudge against the Granger chit, and that meant she was going to track her down.

I licked my lips as Skeeter found the the house the girl had been hiding in. I wanted her, that petite little girl— she wasn't as young as she was when I had first seen her, but she hadn't grown much. I could still imagine her much younger, and I planned to deflower her, break her mind and her body until it served only me. Thus it should be. She would know her place. She would have a purpose, and she would beg me for it.

I revelled in the thought that the brainy little hero of the war would be reduced to carrying my pups and licking my feet. I didn't need her brains. All she needed was to know when to spread those pretty little legs exactly when I wanted them. I would be sure to want them, often. I would take her in front of the rest of the pack until they heaving with want, and then I would beat them bloody for eyeing what was mine.

Speaking of beating someone bloody. Snape was in that house. I saw the two-faced traitor from afar. He always had the stench of those horrid herbs he brewed upon him. I could almost smell it through the walls. This Rita Skeeter sure knew how to find people. I'll give her that. Pity she was an Animagus. The wolf would probably ignore her. Oh, I knew her dirty little secret, but the Dark Lord had insisted we leave her be. She was better off free to cause havoc on her own.

Thanks to Harry Potter, Hero of the Wizarding War, I knew exactly what Snape really was. He really was a traitor— just like the rest of the backstabbing Death Eaters. Oh, he pretended to be uninterested in the pleasures of the flesh, but maybe— maybe I could break him by taking away his play toys too. I'd take the girl right out from under her little guards. Maybe I would take here there under their noses. Pathetic humans. I wished I could just transform and let the pain drive me into a frenzy. Oh how I relished it. I knew, once it was done, that I would do wondrous things for the pack.

I would rut with the girl, infect her as I had my way with her. I would savour her fear and despair. The wolf would let me remember that, and it would be good. Damn the cycle of the moon. We should be gods amongst men. The moon should be no restriction to my kind.

The Rita wench was sneaking around the house to the other side, and I let her do all the sneaky work for me. I followed her to the back of the house before she disappeared, and I wondered if she had found a way in I wasn't seeing. There was a small gap in the window screen, but the screen was still in. She didn't go in that way… but maybe I could.

As I examined the damaged screen, I noticed that there was a window half open further around. There was only a screen between me and the inside of the house. A house-elf was busy repairing the window, too enraptured with painting the outer frame to pay attention to me. All the better. I crushed his little neck between my fingers, choking the life out of him, enjoying watching his eyes bulge as his pathetic magic failed him. I cast him aside, no longer enjoying it. The elf choked, grasping his neck, before disappearing with a hasty pop. Meh. I had hoped I had killed him. No matter.

I would grab the girl and be gone.

The house smelled sickeningly clean. Even the smell of the damp earth from outside smelled fresh, not like my own den that hung with the wonderful smells of mingled sex, sweat, animal musk, piss, and blood. It was the scent of life, after all. This place smelled like a human's unnaturally pristine den.

It was insufferable and nauseating. The stench of such cleanliness was utterly disgusting. I wiped my nose with the back of my hand and dragged my unclean hand across the pale pastel wall, leaving a long streak of oil and dirt in its wake. Better, but not all that much better.

No matter. Once I had the girl, I would make sure to mark her up properly. I wouldn't need magic and some dark tattoo. All I would need was the strength in my arms and a good rut. That's all any young thing needed to know her place.

I slipped into the girl's room easily enough.

The sound of water running and steam from the shower was coming from down the hall. It made enough noise to cloak my entry. I could hear Shacklebolt toiling away somewhere else in the house. That was fine. They were far enough away from me.

Ugh, the room smelled of citrus and some sort of sickly sweet incense mixed with flowers. It had an earthy, disgustingly natural scent to it. Clean. Not even a chaser of fear to help wash it down. I rubbed my burning nose. Best to get this done quickly and get the girl back home before showing her that she belonged to _me_ now.

This room was full of useless books. The stench of parchment and dried plants permeated the air as much as the strange mixture of citrus. It made me want to smash things, tear the books from the bindings, and crush the bottles of ingredients. Females had no need for such useless drivel. I wiped my muddy feet on the clean carpet, putting some nature on the unnaturally clean dwelling.

There she was. The little mudblood bitch. She had been such a thorn in everyone's side. The Dark lord should have let me have her from the start. It would have saved so much time and wasted effort. Harry Potter would have rolled over and exposed his neck like a proper sacrifice. But no, they never _did_ listen to me. Now that the Dark Lord was gone, I was going to mark up quite a few babies over at Hogwarts. They would all be mine— mine as they should have been from the start. Mine as the Dark lord had promised me.

I would have them, one way or another.

I stormed toward the bed, slamming my hand over her mouth so hard she probably tasted the dirt and dried blood of the last idiot that had gotten in my way. Her eyes opened, and she struggled, but I could tell she was weak and feverish. "Struggle all you want, missy," I purred menacingly. "I really _like_ it when they struggle."

I used the blankets to bind her tightly, since it had already been partially done for me. I could smell the stench of Snape's potion and herb-laden scent all over them. Oh ho! Perhaps he wanted a piece of the little girl too. Even better that I take her away and make her mine. I shook her to get her to stop squirming so I could carry her out, but even sick, the girl was struggling like a bloody hellcat on fire. There was the rich, heady scent of fear in the air. It smelled wonderful, but there was something else— anger and something else.

What _was_ it?

She was thrashing in my arms, and I clamped my arms around her like a vise, squeezing the air out from her lungs. Her bones made that delightful cracking sound that meant they were breaking. It really excited me. And then I felt a sudden sharp sting on my hand. Scarlet rivulets of blood dripped from my hand to the floor. The little bitch had bitten me!

I couldn't let _that_ stand. I dropped her back on the bed and backhanded her. Once, twice— until I heard the pop of her jaw going out of alignment. It made a satisfying crunching and grinding noise as her jaw worked to pop back in place. I sucked the blood off my bitten hand. She had balls, this little bitch. Her teeth were also bloody sharp for a human. I would take my time breaking her. I would enjoy every single moment of it, too.

I picked her up again, moving to sling her over my shoulder, but her body began to jerk and twist again. The cloth of the quilt was ripping and tearing. I couldn't have her escaping me. Perhaps it was time to pound a few of the lessons into her.

I wrapped my hand around her, choking her. My other hand shot out to grab the scurrying bug on the outside of my vision. "Listen, little girl," I hissed. "Stop struggling, or I will crush you like this insect."

Her body was slick with sweat, eyes wild with terror. She was literally foaming at the mouth. She continued to struggle. I smashed my insect-holding hand on the wall with a crack—

She screamed. No, it wasn't the bite-y little bitch.

I had just enough time to register that the nosy reporter wench was lying crumpled on the floor, whimpering and broken. The insect had been _her_? They said she was an Animagus. Most of us figured she was a raccoon or a magpie, considering what a notorious busybody she was well-known to be. I hadn't actually intended to damage the reporter, but I was somewhat glad to have finally broken at least some _thing_ satisfactorily.

I had a moment to dwell on that as a blur of fathomless black slammed into me with the force of the Hogwarts Express. I saw a flash of ivory just before intense pain spread from my shoulder down my spine until every nerve was one fire. There was a roar in my ears, and I realised it was the hot breath of a very enraged beast. The beast shook me back and forth like a rag doll, and from the size, I thought Kingsley had finally managed to get his hands on a cerberus— how I not smelled something as obvious as a huge three-headed dog, I had no idea. All I saw was black. All I felt was pain. It wasn't the kind of pain I was used to, and I had a high tolerance for what humans called pain. Typically, I enjoyed pain. It preceded the surge of pleasure that came after. This pain, though was not a teaser into pleasure. It was fire that never ended.

I found myself slammed into a wall, flung there like a cast-away piece of trash, and my eyes focused on long enough to realise it was no cerberus that was tearing into me. It was a giant, monstrous wolf. Black, black, eyes as dark as the moonless night met mine. They smoldered in pure hatred. I knew it well. I beat my pack into hate, and then I beat it out of them until they answered only to me, focusing their hate on humans. This hate, however, was different. This hatred was personal.

The giant animal leapt on me, jaws snapping inches from my face. It was obviously not done with me, perhaps wanting to get a better grip to shake the life out of me. I wasn't going to go down without a fight. I was superior to some brainless animal. My pulse was pounding in my ears. My hand, where the little bitch had bitten me, was swelling and engorged with blood, turning a rather angry red and purple. My breathing was difficult, but I willed myself into action, shoving my fist down the wolf's throat to choke it.

At first, I thought it had worked, and I had taken the beast off guard enough to get the upper hand, but as we tumbled across the floor, smashing into furniture and destroying any semblance of the unnatural tidiness, I realised my actions had just shoved the wolf's stiletto fangs deep into my swollen hand and arm. Curdled blood dripped off my hand— unnaturally thick and clotted. I smelled rotting flesh, and it was me. What had Kingsley done to this beast? Coated it's teeth in venom?

Oh, no. If I was going to die to some jacked up trained wolf, I was going to take out Kingsley's toy with me. I jerked the wolf's head, attempting to snap its neck. The wolf yelped in pain, but my movement had been off. Instead of dislocating its spine, I just slammed its head into the floor. I used my arm, which was trapped in its jaws to slam it back into the floor over and over again.

Just when I thought I had it finally where I wanted it, another something slammed into me, the roar of a growl ringing in my ears. Sharp pain traveled from my groin upward with a gush of hot blood. I kicked out instinctively, hearing a yelp, but the damage was done.

I started, almost uncomprehendingly at the blood mass of flesh between a second wolf's jaws. The golden brown wolf snarled, shaking its head back and forth violent as the bits of flesh slammed into the wall and slid down it with a sickening splat.

The first wolf had pulled away, shaking its head as the fouling blood seemed to give him displeasure. He rubbed his head against the carpet, rubbing it off his jaws before bounding in front of the golden brown wolf. It— he, and there was no doubt now— stood in front of the slightly smaller brown wolf and snarled at me, hatred oozing off of every hair of his body.

I loathed to do it, as I always preferred to handle my problems head on, but pulled out my wand and Disapparated.

Only nothing happened.

Pain was starting to get to me from all parts of my body. Dawning realisation told me what the brown wolf had thrown against the wall as a puddle of my own blood oozed under me. The blood had a stench about it and a thick and unnatural texture that looked like coffee grounds. I was sweating hard, but it was a cold, sickly sort of sweat. My vision was going double, and it was getting very hard to breathe. My lungs simply refused to expand.

 _ **NO!**_

I refused to let some foul, overgrown creature to get the best of me! I was Fenrir Greyback, alpha of all the werewolves of Britain and beyond! No bloody animal was going to get the better of me.

Something in the back of my mind was screaming a warning that I needed to pay more attention to the signs, but vengeance was the only thing I could truly think about. _**I**_ was the alpha werewolf— I would tear this beast apart!

I met the black wolf's gaze, challenging him, daring him to come at me. I whispered the incantation to turn my wand into a blade— my artificial fang.

 _Come at me!_

 _Come on!_

 _Do it!_

The black wolf's lips pulled back from his teeth, and that is when I realised this was no ordinary wolf. Ivory fangs glistened with a pale iridescent shimmer of magic-laced venom. While part of the mouth was like any wolf, behind the row of lupine teeth was another row or two of parallel, backwards-pointing teeth. As the beast snarled, the row seemed to unfold in a way I vaguely remembered seeing before.

Then, it hit me. I had seen those teeth before— in Voldemort's pet, Nagini, his venomous, magically-enhanced, homicidal snake.

The beast looked like he was going to take my invitation.

"Stop," Kingsley voice said, low and level.

The black wolf creature looked from me to Kingsley with a conflict between unreasoning hatred and appeasement.

"Come on you, big beast!" I snarled. "Come at me!" I readied my cursed knife-wand. So help me, I would take him out with me.

The creature's head snapped back, lips curling back from his freakish beastly teeth. The brown one looked at me with no less hatred; in fact, it seemed the brown one wanted its pound of flesh as well. The black one used his body to keep the brown from coming at me, but both looked fit like all it would take would be a little push to land right on my waiting knife.

My vision was rapidly getting worse— Shacklebolt would surely want to take me to Mungo's to get patched up so he could put me in front of the Wizengamot. My hand was bursting out from the skin, the skin breaking with a foul smelling rot. My shoulder wasn't much better. It was burning, reeking, and oozing curdled blood. What the _hell_ kind of animal did Shacklebolt have?

"Against Dark magic are you really, Shacklebolt?" I snarled. "I see what a two-faced excuse for a human you are! These beasts you have. Sacrifice any virgins to get them? Form them out of the chopped up bodies of infants? Pity that Skeeter bitch isn't awake to witness the ugly truth, eh? Don't worry, Shacklebolt. I'll be sure to tell everyone."

I staggered as I tried to get up, but everything went upside down. I couldn't focus, and I couldn't see anything but double— nay, triple. My window of opportunity was quickly closing. I decided to make like killdeer and lure him in. If I couldn't provoke his beasts, I could sink my blade into him. Magical people always looked so _surprised_ when I would sink my hands into their bodies and scramble their organs. They never expect me to get my hands dirty like that. It was a world of wands and magic. Psh.

I grunted, crumpling in a heap, deliberately making myself look weak and pathetic. I clenched and shook my injured arm, clawing at the floor as I struggled to get up.

Come closer, human. That's a good, gullible little human.

I moaned pitifully against the floorboards, feigning weakness.

Looming shadows were moving slowly in front of me.

That's it, sucker. Come a little bit closer.

I felt a different, sharper pain as something sharp struck me on the leg. I couldn't take it anymore. I lunged forward, stabbing my cursed knife out. Stab, slice, or a wound of any kind was fine for me. As long as it got him, I was okay with it.

My knife sank in satisfyingly deep, all the way into bone. I felt the flesh move and the satisfying clink of metal against bone.

A high, feminine scream of agony rang like broken glass in my sensitive ears.

Shacklebolt was a _woman_?

I wanted to laugh, but it hurt too much to breathe, let alone laugh or talk. I could barely move, my limbs feeling like they were a thousand times heavier than they actually were, like they were encased in Muggle cement. Had Shacklebolt somehow _drugged_ me? My body was sweating heavily and my nerves felt like they were on fire. Angry snarling rang in my ears.

"Easy, easy," Kingsley's voice was saying soothingly.

Okay, so maybe he only _screamed_ like a woman.

No, the screaming was still going on. Maybe he had two heads attached to an impressive set of lungs?

"Easy now," Shacklebolt's voice soothed. "Severus, back up please. Back. Let me take Skeeter out. Easy now."

The traitorous bastard Snape was here? I tried to focus, but my eyes stared blankly into the soft grey carpet fuzz.

So the screamer was Skeeter. Why was she here? Didn't I follow her here? Why couldn't I bloody _focus_?

"Yes, thank you, Severus," his voice continued. "My face is quite clean enough now, thank you, Hermione. Move back, please. That's it, stay back now."

Soft whining and snuffling noises were all I could make out now. My vision was complete rubbish, like staring out into heavy fog.

 _ **Crack. Crack-crack. Crack. CRACK.**_

Multiple Apparitions sounded out nearby. It was the last thing I remember before the fog swallowed me up.

* * *

"Savage, Potter," I snapped. "Handle Ms Skeeter. Don't touch her leg, the wound is from a cursed or poisoned blade. Don't touch the knife either. Get her to Mungo's right now! Proudfoot, Weasley, do _not_ come through this door. Actually, Proudfoot, you are probably okay. Weasley, you stay out in the hall. Wait for me to bind him up. Be ready to Apparate him to Mungo's. Proudfoot, code AW."

Proudfoot nodded sharply. "Understood. Weasley, wait out here."

"But, sir?" Weasley protested.

Proudfoot shot Weasley the warning look that I swear Alastor Moody imprinted on every last one of his trainees. It was the look that said 'Shut up and listen, rookie'. John Savage and Randall Proudfoot had shared the dubious honour of being among Moody's last batch of trainees. Hermione, too, had been one of his, so their history went way back. I was counting on that. And Severus always recognised people he knew. It didn't mean he let them inside his enclosure or let them touch him when he was changed, but he did recognise them.

Merlin, _please_ let that be the same with Hermione.

In the heat of the situation, my mind didn't even stop to consider the fact that Hermione had made her full shift in broad daylight— right along with Severus. I treated her exactly as I did him. Low soothing voice, no quick moves. Calm and assertive demeanor. No looking them directly in the eyes. Severus had always been just enough wolf to be stable, but he always hung on to just enough human to be eerily sentient. He wasn't brewing potions as a wolf, but the typical werewolf response to most people was all about attack first and not bothering to ask questions later.

Severus had never been like that, and I had a feeling of certainty in my gut that Hermione would be much the same. I couldn't explain why. I just _knew_. They were so very alike when the masks were set aside.

Rita was dealt with quickly. A stretcher was conjured, Skeeter levitated onto it and taken back out into the hall. Savage and Potter each grabbed a side of Skeeter's stretcher and disappeared with a sharp _**crack**_. One crisis dealt with, check.

Proudfoot came in and immediately dropped to his knees, averting his eyes carefully. "Hey there, Hermione," he addressed her. "Remember me?"

The brown she-wolf whuffed happily, bounding up, practically bowling over Severus in her eager enthusiasm. She licked Proudfoot assiduously in greeting, knocking his spectacles right off his grinning face. Her tail was wagging wildly. She made a soft growling, whining noise that sounded like she was trying to somehow speak with lupine vocal chords. She gnawed on his hat, shaking it like a rabbit, and whined, pawing at his robes, and shoving her very large wolf head against his chest, ploughing into him like a steamroller.

Severus was watching very, very closely. His ears were perked forward, and the same suspicious look his human face had often seemed to make it to his wolfen muzzle.

To be honest, I wasn't worried about Severus. I had been worried about Hermione's response to someone so soon after her transformation, but there was that tiny voice in the back of my mind that hadn't been worried at all. Faith— somehow I still had it— even after the second war that had almost turned the world upside down.

"Easy now," I directed the two furry agents. "Let us deal with Greyback here."

Both wolves growled as I tried to approach the rather sick-looking werewolf.

I cast them both a look. I pulled out my wand and in rapid succession cast a stunner, Petrificus Totalus, Incarcerous, Langlock, and a jelly-leg jinx, just to be thorough. I eyed the two werewolves with an arched eyebrow. They whined anxiously at me, but they lay down beside Proudfoot, setting their rumps against his legs and squeezing him between them.

"There now, he's fully secured while we wait for Savage and Potter to return," I said, opening my hands to the two watching werewolves. I knelt slowly, and Severus lowered his head and approached me, tail wagging. He snuffled under my chin and licked.

Hermione watched him closely, looking to him and to me. Her tail wagged slowly, seemingly deciding that I was still okay and should be forgiven for approaching Greyback, despite their warnings and against all common sense.

 _ **Crack. Crack.**_

Savage and Potter had returned.

"Code AW, Savage," I called. "Leave Potter down the hall with Weasley."

"You got it, boss," Savage said. "Stay here, Harry."

"Yes, sir," Potter replied. I had to admit, the boy had really grown up. The war had made him a responsible sort. He was genuine, but he had stopped running head first into danger like a— how did Severus put it— flaming witless dunderhead?

Severus always did have _such_ a way with words.

John Savage dropped to his knees next to Randall, averting his eyes. We had developed this code for greeting Severus specifically, and he had always responded well. It was a relief that it was finally being proven out in the world, even if it was so… impromptu. Dangerous even, but— my gut said it would be fine. My gut had never been wrong before. Thank Merlin that had not changed today.

Hermione snuffled Savage, sniffed him all over, bowled him over, gave him a slurp, and then stole his hat, shaking it mercilessly. The drool-soaked hat smacked into the wall and slid down, landing next to— _**Sweet merciful Merlin!**_

I had to resist reaching down and checking to make sure all of my working parts were still with me. Savage and Proudfoot seemed less inclined to restrain themselves, and I caught them checking themselves discreetly. They both looked very green.

Gods… Severus was a tame bunny rabbit compared to Hermione's first instincts. We'd have to give trainees cups to protect themselves. Good thing Potter and Weasley were safely down the hall. It was true that both Severus and Hermione knew them, but they did not know them as peers and equals. They had not trained as agents. They were training as Aurors, but it wasn't quite the same. Savage, Proudfoot, Severus, Hermione, and myself were all agents pretending to be Aurors. There was a very big difference.

Proudfoot finished his safe greeting of the wolves and helped me move Greyback out. He looked like hell warmed over and then flash frozen. He smelled like putrid rotting flesh. I'd seen some pretty bad wounds in some of my people, but I had to admit this one was particularly nasty. It looked like Arthur after being mauled by Nagini only much, much worse— combined with the later stages of gangrene. And the ugly, blackened flesh was spreading rapidly.

I blinked.

Savage and Proudfoot secured Greyback to a conjured stretcher, making soft gagging noises at the horrid smell. They nodded to me, each grabbing one side of the rail and Disapparated straight to Mungo's.

I looked at the mangled, blackened remains of Greyback's bits. They were not going to do any miracles with _that_. I didn't need to be a healer to know a hopeless cause when I saw one. If the smell of the rot was any indicator, he would be lucky to survive, bollocks or no bollocks.

I did a scan of the room, extracting the pertinent memories into a vial, sealing it, and placing a shatterproof charm on it. I tucked it away for later.

 _Pop. Pop._

House elves were already hard at work, industriously making the room tidy again. Damn, were they ever efficient. How did they know I had already collected memory evidence? Hell, they were even bagging the bits for me.

Suddenly, it dawned on me and I facepalmed. Of course. These were Hermione's elves. They would know _exactly_ how to process a crime scene for evidence.

It only took them a few minutes to put things into order, clean the blood, resort the fallen jars of ingredients, and make the bed. Meanwhile, the two werewolves were busy snuffling each other over, nuzzling, whining, rubbing up against each other, and licking each other's muzzles clean.

Then, suddenly, the looked over at me. I could almost see the curved devil horns sprout up from their heads.

 _FWOMP!_

I had over four hundred kilos of massive, overgrown dire werewolf pinning me down as they licked my face energetically.

Resistance was futile.

"Guh!" I managed. "Hermione! Ack! I need my _face_. Gods, not you too, Severus."

I squirmed, but it was pretty much useless. They were bloody _huge_. I felt like a misbehaving pup being sat upon by the parent wolves. I think that Severus had actually grown since the Nagini incident, and he had passed that tendency on to Hermione. He'd always been a very large werewolf, but I could have used him to pull a carriage. Wouldn't that be a sight to see?

Hermione held my wrist lightly between her jaws and was pretending like she was going to gnaw on it. I could feel the touch of her teeth. But she beat her tail on the ground and dropped my arm, choosing to rub her head against my chest and my arm and my— everything.

Kingsley-nip. Coming to a wolf supply store near you.

Severus had done much the same the first night I'd risked joining him in the enclosure. My "boss" at the time had called me a bleeding idiot, thinking he'd have one more werewolf to lock up. But, after all the time I'd been pounced on, nipped, rolled over, slurped, bathed, and accidentally scratched, I'd never turned. I'd never tried it with a normal werewolf, mind you, but I truly believed Severus was an altogether different sort of beast— something rather more evolved.

Only now, he was truly evolved. Nagini's bite had certainly seen to that.

Our researchers had speculated that Severus might have had some sort of creature inheritance that had been latent in his blood. Whether it was from the Prince side or the Snape side, they had no idea. Lupin's bite had triggered some sort of mutation in the wild card gene that he had inherited and that literally transformed him into something quite different. He was an entirely _new_ species of werewolf— dire werewolf at that. Then, completely through no fault of his own, he had been bitten by a giant, magically-altered snake that also happened to be one of Voldemort's Horcruxes… and he had mutated yet again. Only now, for the first time, Severus wasn't alone. Hermione was with him.

The events in question were utterly random. They were truly a perfect storm. These two were going to drive the healers back at the office insane. They were learning new things every full moon, and now they had even more to learn.

"Hermione!" I laughed as she bathed my face again, snapping up my hat. I frowned, instantly mourning my favourite hat.

Hermione lay her head over my chest, placing my hat on my sternum. She beat her tail on the ground, releasing her hostage.

"Thank you," I told the werewolf.

She made sounds like she was trying to talk to me.

I gently rubbed her ears, and she whuffed at me.

I flopped back on the freshly cleaned carpet with a sigh. "You're both hired. We'll discuss benefits and vacation days when you're no longer drooling."

Twin tails beat against the floor as two cold noses were shoved into my ears.

"Agh! Hermione! Severus! GAH!"

* * *

"Ron, you git, will you just _stop_?" I growled and smacked Ron over the head with a rolled up report parchment. "We're not spying on Order meetings and trying to catch whispers about Voldemort anymore."

"Come on, Harry," Ron whinged, setting my teeth on edge yet again with his utter childishness. "We've been in training for bloody months now. Why haven't _we_ ever heard of 'code AW'?"

I rolled my eyes. There were a hell of a lot of things we hadn't learned yet. Our superiors obviously knew what the code meant, and our orders had been crystal clear. I had learned long ago, after my hell-bent insistence on raiding the Ministry to save my godfather that rushing in half-cocked without listening to reason only got the people I loved killed. I was well and truly _done_ with not listening to my superiors. Later on, when I was a full Auror, I could be the boss of myself, but for now, I was in training, and a good trainee did what they were told, period.

Had I just listened to Professor Snape back in the day, I would have learned Occlumency just as I should have and would not have had the vision to begin with. There were a lot of things I _should_ have done. If I had listened to Dumbledore, I would have trusted Professor Snape. If I'd listened to Hermione— yeah, I was so done with not listening to the people I should have trusted.

Ron was fiddling with something after our superiors left with Greyback. I was just relieved that Greyback had finally been taken care of. The amount of grief that one man, if you could even call him a man, was beyond staggering. So, too, was the amount of grief that Skeeter had caused in an entirely different way. How Skeeter had found Hermione's home was pretty troubling, but Hermione had been Muggleborn. Looking up the address in a Muggle directory would have been all it took. It was just most magical people didn't know the first thing to do about Muggle things. Rita was apparently one who didn't care _what_ she had to do or where she had to go if it meant getting a juicy story.

Hermione had sort of dropped off the face of the earth after the end of the war. Mind you, the end of the war was still going on, but after she had given me probably the longest hug I'd ever received, she said she needed to lay low for a while and collect herself. I kind of wished I could too, to be honest, so I really understood. She didn't want the publicity, the eyes, the questions— Hell, neither did I.

I'd questioned her wanting to stay behind and help Snape, at least, I had until I watched the memories. I realised, again, that there were a lot of things I should have paid more attention to. Professor Snape had, despite not wanting anyone to know, tried to save me from my own stupidity on multiple occasions. So, too, had Hermione. Hermione had her knowledge seeking moments, such as encouraging me to do research in restricted section without authorisation, but she never said "Hey, let's go break into that room and see what's behind the— _**Oh sweet Merlin, RUN!**_ "

Professor Snape may not have been a very likeable man, but he had done some pretty brave things. In the end he hadn't been found out… until I had stupidly revealed his true allegiance to the Dark Lord himself. In my defence, I'd honestly thought he was dead. You can't murder someone who is already dead, after all. I had a niggling feeling, however, that he was not dead. I knew it from what Hermione wasn't saying. People said she couldn't lie to save her soul, but what if _that_ was actually a lie?

It wasn't that I believed Hermione wasn't trustworthy. In fact, I would have trusted her with my life— had in many ways already. There were just times when I felt she had grown up three times over, and I and Ron, well, we had been forced to grow up, but it wasn't quite the same.

Induction as an Auror trainee had been a logical step for me. I never wanted any other person to have to go through what I did. I wanted to get started right after the end of the war, really. I wanted to put some faith back into the system because I knew what it had been like to think I couldn't trust anyone. I had been paired with a kind, no-nonsense younger man who reminded me a lot of Bill Weasley. John Savage was the kind of man who you could just trust to watch your back and still go out for a beer at night with him. He treated me like a person, nothing more or less, and that meant so more to me than being treated like a hero, survivor, or boy-who-became-a-man-sending-Voldemort-back-to-hell.

Neville, on the other hand, was taking some much needed time to visit his parents at Mungo's before starting up with Auror training, but he, too, planned to do so. I didn't blame him. Rumour had it, he had quite a fanbase after finding out he'd single-handedly slain Nagini with the famed Sword of Godric Gryffindor. He and Luna were planning to help clean up the rubble and help with the rebuilding of Hogwarts before they sought out their own version of normality. Honestly, I was more than happy for them.

I wasn't even near ready to settle down and start a family. Ginny, as much as she and I had been through, had realised that the war was basically what drew us together. Take that away, and we just sort of… stared at each other awkwardly. Perhaps that would change in the future, but part of me knew we needed some time apart to figure out what we really wanted, in life as well as in a relationship. Molly was pressuring us to make it all official, and she had done the the same to Ron, thinking, however erroneously, that they had surely consummated a relationship while living in a tent in the wilds. I'm not sure what gave her any idea about how that could have happened, but Ron had been talking about settling down having a family. Whether that was Ron talking or his mum, I truly had no idea.

Ron pulled something out of his trainee robes, and I recognised them immediately: a set of extendable ears.

"What the hell are you _doing_ , Ron?" I hissed.

"Randall said stay here, but he didn't say I couldn't listen," Ron said, twisting the orders to his benefit. For a man who had grown up hating Slytherin tactics, he was sure fond of using them.

"You're going to get us into trouble," I said. "That's Kingsley in there, and our orders were to stay here."

"We fought with him in the war, Harry," Ron scoffed. "He _knows_ we can handle ourselves."

"Blind, stupid luck with a little skill thrown in the mix does _not_ make us experienced Aurors, Ron," I replied, scowling. I'd had enough being the one who survived because of fate, luck, random acts of the gods, and because other people threw themselves into danger for my sake.

Hedwig— I should have treated her much better. There were so many others, both living and dead, that I should have treated a lot better. I should have listened to Hermione. Sirius might still be alive. There was a world of difference between thinking first and just flying right in there like a hotheaded idiot itching for a fight. They were still pulling bodies out from the rubble of Hogwarts. Professor Lupin was taken to Mungo's— my last connection to my parents. I could only hope the man somehow managed to survive. There had been so many other deaths and injuries. No word had come back as to his status. Perhaps, no news really _was_ good news.

A house elf popped in next to me with a small tray of sandwiches, biscuits, and tea. Damn. House elves? In Hermione's parents' home? I couldn't _wait_ to hear the story on that one. Last I heard, Hermione's parents had been sent to Australia— as Mr and Mrs Wendell and Monica Wilkins. Hermione had been understandably anxious and sombre. The house was absolutely pristine, looking just like the few times I'd seen it when I'd visited. Hermione had smuggled me out of the Dursley's place in a manner I, to this day, had no idea how she did it. Somehow, my aunt, uncle, and cousin hadn't even noticed I left. Unlike when Ron and his brothers had broken me out of my barred room. She must have used magic— but how she had without being in trouble without the trace—

Hermione. She had far more skill than most people thought. Sometimes, I had cashed into her studiousness to "help" with my own homework instead of doing it myself— preferring to romp around with Ron and have fun. I think that, perhaps, Hermione thought I was making up for not being able to have fun and play when I was a younger child. Maybe she dismissed it as justified. Whatever the reason, she always helped me get my homework done, but that didn't mean she didn't chew my head off for doing it. By the time I started to realise— or admit— my failings, it was far too late. The war had come knocking on our door, and we had to flee with only what we knew and a whole lot of desperation. I wasn't a _complete_ failure, mind you, but I could have been much better, had I only listened to Hermione and tried a little harder.

Ron had thrown the extendable ear down the hall and it stuck to the wall with a splat. George had been playing with the ears, making them a little more useful in different ways: sticking to things, levitating, familiar avoidance and the like. Some of it was succeeding, and some not so much. Ron had apparently gotten his hands on the sticky kind.

"Ron!" I hissed.

"I'm not going into the room," he huffed. "I'm listening."

"You're not listening at all," I replied, narrowing my eyes. This was not the same as when we desperately hungered for the truth of what was going on while the adults whispered and argued with each other at Grimmauld Place. Kingsley would call for us if he needed us. Until then, I was content to enjoy this excellent tea and the tastiest butter biscuits I had ever eaten. Maybe, I was starving, but they tasted like Christmas to my tastebuds.

Ron simply pushed the house elf away rudely, causing the tea to spill over the tray and over the elf. The elf gasped as the hot tea spilt on her, scandalized by Ron's appalling behaviour..

 _Pop_.

And then she was gone, tea tray and all.

If Hermione found out, Ron was going to have his arse chewed off and then served up to him for dinner by his own mum.

Hermione had pleaded with me to be nicer to Kreacher, despite his horrible manners and despite what Sirius told me about him. A gradual changed had turned the bitter elf into something I could barely fathom. I had no idea that Kreacher could be kind. He'd even started to make food that didn't nearly kill me just from the horrible taste alone. Watching Ron listening through his extendable ear and rudely pushing the elf away set off the little voice of Hermione in my head that had implored me to treat the old house elf better. She couldn't do it herself. As much as she tried, Kreacher's bond was to me— only _I_ could to set the example.

The little elf that had brought the tea and biscuits had been dressed in more than just a pillowcase. It had looked like she was wearing miniature robes— light and gauze-like for the summer months. She had to be one of Hermione's elves. She'd so often lamented how much house elves wore pillowcases, tea towels and other such things instead of proper clothes. Still, Hermione having a house elf? That really threw me for a loop. I wondered if Hermione had insisted on paid time off and holiday time.

"Snape is _alive_?" Ron gasped. "No way, how did he survive _that_?"

"Stop it, Ron," I hissed. "What if Kingsley is keeping that under wraps for a reason?"

"Snape?" Ron said, glaring at me. "That greasy git doesn't deser—"

"Do _not_ finish that sentence, Ron," I warned in a low growl. I had seen many stunning truths in Professor Snape's memories, and he definitely deserved far more respect than anyone had given him. "Even Dumbledore told us repeatedly that we could trust him. He was a brave—"

"He treated us like total _shite_ , Harry," Ron replied, glaring back at me. "Bloody Slytherin. You can't trust any of them!"

Thinking about it, while Draco Malfoy had been a particularly bad example of reasons to like Slytherin— at least to me, anyway— but the whole house wasn't a bunch of Pureblood bigots any more than all Gryffindors were all noble and courageous examples of our own house.

Just looking at the memories of my father in his peak of greatness had proven that Gryffindor might be the house of bravery, daring, nerve, and chivalry, but very few seemed to display those qualities. True, real potential may have been there, but like most things in life— potential didn't always come to fruition. We, the students, had to climb the rest of the stairs to greatness all on our own. My father had been an absolute _swine_. That had been the harshest truth I'd had to swallow. Peter Pettigrew had been a black-hearted betrayer who had far outdone Draco in despicable deeds with horrific consequences. Sirius Black— my godfather— had actually tried to _murder_ someone before he'd even reached seventeen. They may have grown up due to the war, but it didn't erase their multitude of sins. Professor Lupin had tried to tell me that proof was in the deeds, not the stories. But I had foolishly believed the stories and ignored the deeds.

I turned my head away, refusing to rise to Ron's childish baiting. It was very clear that we weren't going to meet eye-to-eye in this conversation, and bickering in the hallway of our best female mate's house was not going to endear us to Hermione when she inevitably found out about it.

If Professor Snape was here too, it meant that both Hermione knew about it, and she'd probably taken him here directly instead of Mungo's for a reason only she knew. That Kingsley was in there talking to him meant that he knew already and was okay with it. If Kingsley didn't have a problem with it, then neither did I. Hell, if Hermione herself was fine with it, I was fine with it too. I owed her that. I owed her so much more than that. Many times, I had failed to put my faith in Hermione's judgement, and every time I had paid for it. I was done being the guy that couldn't trust anyone but Dumbledore. As much respect as I had for Headmaster Dumbledore, I realised that I should have put a lot more faith in many others, too. Maybe I should have put a bit less faith in a few as well— my godfather, for example.

"She's been hiding out here all along!" Ron gasped. "Not so much as an owl back to me!"

"She asked us to please give her some space, Ron," I reminded him. "Kindly give her some, ya?"

Hermione had asked us for space, and I trusted she would tell me when things were good because we had Apparated to her house on Auror business did not give us the right to barge right in, wands out, to confront Hermione for doing exactly what she _said_ she was going to do. I wasn't moving from my spot in the hall. In fact, an house elf had brought me a very comfy chair, and I wasn't going to leave it unless the house was bloody well on fire— or my boss told me to. Whichever came first.

"This is Hermione!" Ron protested.

"And if it was anyone else?"

Ron looked at me strangely.

"If it was Amelia Bones' house and Kingsley was talking to her, would you just go barging in there?"

"Well, no, but this is 'Mione!"

"Just give her some time to process what happened to us, Ron," I said with a sigh. "She was with us every single day, trapped in a tent with nowhere to go or be with but us. She was tortured. Tortured by Bellatrix Lestrange! And she never had any time to process that. We expected her to be our rock the entire time we were out there. Hell, I showed even Dobby more compassion and respect than I did her. Give. Her. Space."

Ron seemed to chew on that, but it was plainly obvious that he didn't see things the way I did.

"Agh! Hermione! Severus! _GAH!_ " Kingsley's voice boomed out from the room down the hall. Then there was a resounding thump directly afterwards.

Before I could even say a single word, Ron was up and running. "Mione! You okay?"

Kingsley hadn't sounded like he was in distress at all. Had he been, there were about a hundred other things he could have said that would have alerted us and a list of codes he could have yelled. For all I knew, Kingsley could have just lost a card game.

Ron, however, was already sprinting at top speed down the hall, wand out, calling for Hermione.

I waited to hear Hermione's voice screech at Ron in the same tone she had used when he had come back to the tent in the Forest of Dean after abandoning us. It would be that or the tone of murder that she had shortly after that. I was pretty sure, if I hadn't had her wand, Ron would have been strung up on a tree somewhere with a flock of canaries attempting to peck out his eyes with extreme prejudice.

" _ **Merlin! Kings!"**_ Ron yelled.

" _ **Weasley,**_ _**NO!**_ "

" _ **Stupefy! Incarcerous! Stupefy!"**_ Ron's voice rang out.

" _ **Potter, tackle him!"**_ Kingsley yelled.

I was on my feet and running. Ron was standing at the door, shooting off spells frantically. Kingsley had said _tackle_. I tucked my wand away, trusting that Kingsley knew perfectly well what he was doing. I flung myself on top of Ron in a flying tackle that would have done a professional rugby team proud. Ron went flying, and I landed squarely on top of him, knocking Ron's breath out of him in a hard grunt.

Kingsley was blocking the door with his body now. "Easy now," he crooned softly. "He's gone. No weapons." Kingsley was kneeling, his head averted to look at me as he spoke back into the room. "No harm done. See? Look. My hat is far more interesting, ya?"

I had no idea what Kingsley was talking about, but if he was talking to either Snape or Hermione, I was completely confused.

Suddenly, a large brown wolf head poked out from under Kingsley's arm, a pair of ears popping out almost comically as they pointed forward and swiveled towards me with apparent curiosity. Nostrils flared, and the wolf looked almost— annoyed?

The wolf whined as it pushed Kingsley back into the hall like a snowplow, using its head as a wedge. It snatched up Kingsley's hat and shook it violently like a hound with a caught rabbit, steadily moving past him.

My eyes widened as I realised just _how_ large the wolf really was. The bared teeth were almost the size of daggers. The paws, good gods, were the size of a Quaffle. The floor was rumbling, and I realised it was because of the wolf. Its low growl was practically shaking the walls. For a moment, I thought Kingsley had been conversing with Fenrisúlfr the Norse World Wolf— the wolf who would devour the mighty Odin. Kingsley placed a hand on the wolf's raised hackles. "Easy now, back, back now."

Kingsley gently used his arm to push the wolf backwards. I knew it was a token gesture. Had the wolf wanted to, it could have bowled him over like nothing. The wolf backed up, teeth still exposed, but it seemed to trust Kingsley's judgement. Its nose was working furiously, sniffing the air. Then, just as I was convinced there couldn't possibly be a wolf bigger than that one, a large black shadow of a beast stepped out from Kingsley's other side. Every inch of its coat was black. Its huge eyes were solid black too.

He. The second wolf was most _definitely_ a he.

His lips pulled back in a snarl, exposing sharp ivory teeth. Bits of foam flecked about his jaws as a strange, iridescent drool dripped from his teeth— and that was when I saw them: a second line of dagger-like teeth unfolding from behind the typical canine teeth.

They were surprisingly like Nagini's fangs. I had seen them all too up close and personal to ever mistake them for anything else.

The black wolf growled lowly, and the walls seemed to vibrate again. He pressed his huge head into the brown wolf and then into Kingsley's hand.

Kingsley pressed his hand firmly on each wolf's head. "Easy now. See? No wand. No weapons. I'm fine. You're fine. Let's go out to the garden." Slowly, Kingsley was using his hands to lean on the wolves to guide the backwards. Both of the gargantuan beasts stared at me with an eerie intelligence mixed with a clear feral distrust.

The brown wolf whined, licking Kingsley under the chin.

"Get _off_ me, Harry!" Ron hissed.

The brown wolf's head snapped around, ears laid back menacingly and lips curling back from its very large teeth. I saw the second row of teeth unfold behind the first. Merciful Merlin! Its hackles were raised, each hair standing on end.

"Hermione," Kingsley said softly. His voice was firm, yet gentle.

The brown wolf's ears raised up, its hackles lowering slightly.

"Come now," Kingsley coaxed. "You're probably starving. Let's get you some food."

"Trust me," Kingsley said gently. "Let's go." He waved his drool-covered hat enticingly.

The brown wolf snatched it between its jaws and tail wagged, eagerly looking up at him for guidance. The black wolf was staring at me with a narrow dagger-like gaze.

Kingsley guided them back down the hall and back towards the sliding door that led out into the garden. I heard the sound of the door sliding open, claws scrambling across tile, and the door closing. A few tense minutes later, the door opened and closed again, and Kingsley stood at the end of the hallway.

"Potter, let Weasley up, please," Kingsley said darkly. "And Weasley, you can now tell me why I shouldn't Obliviate you and fire you on the spot for disobeying direct orders."

* * *

"You're lucky you aren't dead right now, Weasley," I said as I watched Randall and John out in the garden watching Severus and Hermione play tug-of-war with a very large haunch of beef. They had stripped it down to the bone, leaving the bones and tendons just enough so they could play tug of war with it. Every so often Hermione would bound up to either John or Randall and bowl them over, groom their hair into an impressive cowlick, and then enthusiastically chase Severus around the garden. Then, Severus would chase her around the garden. Thankfully, with the threat nullified, the two werewolves were seemingly happy to "play" with the two other agents nearby.

"What the bloody _hell_ is going on here?" Ron sputtered in outrage. "Did someone curse my 'Mione into a beast?

"For someone who shows absolutely no respect for his superiors, cannot follow orders, and seems to think that need-to-know doesn't apply to him, you are asking a hell of a lot of questions, Weasley," I bit out. I was angry. I was more than angry, but I had to get a grip on it quickly. If I went out there in the garden smelling of anger, whether suppressed or otherwise, there was no telling what Hermione and Severus might do.

"Why are there giant beasts in Hermione's house?" demanded Ron.

"Ron," Harry said as he was pinching his nose. "Shut it, will you? You're just digging yourself in deeper."

"That black one is Snape, isn't it?" Ron blurted. "He _did_ something to 'Mione!"

"Weasley," I snapped with considerable exasperation. "If I cannot trust you to follow orders, how am I supposed to trust you with confidential information?" Potter, to his credit, sat in the arm chair and watched the wolves romping outside, staying quiet.

"Big, dangerous animals?" Ron protested. "That's information we should have known before coming in! If that is Hermione, then we _definitely_ should've known!"

 _Pop._

"Daisy asks Master Kingsley if Mistress Hermione and Master Severus be needing another dinner?" the house elf looked up at me with her big green eyes.

"Yes, please, Daisy," I replied. "I'm sure they would greatly appreciate it.

The house elf nodded her head. "Daisy happy to serve," she answered with a smile. She disappeared with a pop.

All of Hermione's elves knew where the food stores were kept at the Ministry, and that included our rather substantial meat cooler. I was never so glad that Hermione had taken the time to teach all of her elves, hers and the refugees, which places were greenlit and which were off limits. We'd never had problems with Hermione's elves. I only wished others were so considerate. Pulling trapped elves out of the high-suction airflows and magically warded port-in-but-not-out areas was a weekly occurrence.

I watched in amusement, my mood lightening, as Hermione tried to feed poor Savage. Much like a cat owner who had just been given a dead, decapitated bunny rabbit as a gift, John was trying to look properly grateful without insulting the giant dire wolf's very generous gift. Finally, he seemed to come to a compromise, spearing the meat onto a transfigured kabob stick, and using his wand to cook it. Hermione watched him like a hawk, making sure he ate every bite, then wagged her tail and promptly did the same for Randall. Poor Proudfoot. He was a vegetarian.

Both Severus and Hermione stared pointedly at Proudfoot. Proudfoot looked quite green in the face. Savage made a gesture with his hands. Randall seemed to get the message. He took the stick, speared the meat, transfigured it into a vegetable kabob, roasted it with his wand, and ate it, trying to look as grateful as possible.

The two dire wolves looked somewhat suspiciously at him.

Having fed the two "helpless hunters," the wolves went back to eating the rest of their second dinner. I could hear the crunching through the door glass. Good thing Hermione had warded the garden for noise. Having the police show up because one's neighbours had called in a possible murder in progress in the Granger backyard could prove a bit troublesome.

"Weasley," I began again, "why do you want to be an Auror?"

Ron's face twisted a little. "I have to do my part to make sure what happened to Fred doesn't happen to anyone else."

I sighed. "Fred died fighting in a war, Ronald. Why do you want to be an Auror? Bad things are going to happen to people. Sometimes, we arrive too late. Sometimes we have to enforce laws on our friends and family."

"Aurors stop Dark wizards," Ron answered darkly. "People need to be saved from Dark Wizards." He glared out the window, looking out to where the wolves were cavorting in the garden.

"And how do you suppose we find Dark wizards?" I asked.

"Some of 'em are obvious, ya?" Ron answered.

"What makes them obvious?" I asked wearily, fearing I already knew his answer.

"Well, if they're Slytherin," Ron stated confidently, "that's a pretty good start."

I sighed. "If your first instinct is to blame a house in Hogwarts over a true evaluation, you are going to miss the people like Peter Pettigrew, that not only was responsible for the death of his supposed closest friends, but also was a loyal Death Eater. Peter was Gryffindor. You cannot judge people solely by what house they were sorted into, Weasley. What if you are trying to evaluate someone who was educated at Durmstrang?"

"Psh, well all of their lot are Dark wizards and witches," Ron scoffed. "That's easy."

"So dismissive of your beloved Quidditch hero, Viktor Krum?" I asked.

Ron flushed. "That's different."

"How?"

Ron was looking quite flustered.

"Look, Ronald," I said. "If you wish to continue being an Auror, you are going to have to answer quite a few hard questions. You're going to have to learn to make judgement calls on people and be totally impartial. If you get a call to go to the Malfoy residence, you're going to have to go. You cannot refuse because Draco was in Slytherin and you cannot accuse or arrest him without just cause. I do not feel comfortable allowing you out in the field until I can be sure you will be able to do this, for that reason, what you learned here today cannot and will not leave here."

"It's not like anyone would ever believe me anyway," Ron muttered under his breath.

I pulled out the small token from my robes and tossed it to Weasley. He caught it instinctively. There was a bright flash and Weasley slumped, passing out cold into the chair.

Harry looked at me with some concern.

"Under Code Seven of Policy Twenty-Two-Fifty-Six-Alpha, I hereby execute an Obliviate for the protection of critical Ministry secrets. Subject: Ronald Bilius Weasley, Auror trainee," I said sombrely. I pointed my wand at Weasley and wiped everything he had experienced up to the time Skeeter and Greyback had been dealt with. I was not an expert Obliviator, and later, the official ones would come in and do the full deed as well as insert the appropriate memories to fill in the blanks. There was a chance that Weasley might make full Auror one day, but not as he was now. He was far too biased— he was too emotional and had an alarming lack of objectivity. I had, mistakenly, put him out in the field much too soon due to how many casualties the Auror corps had suffered during the war. It was a mistake I did not plan to repeat. No one would get a free pass into the Aurors without having passed their exams and proven they were capable of treating all people with respect. Harbour your bias, if you must— Alastor, may you rest in peace— but be able to set it aside to do your job.

"Harry," I said wearily, using his given name. "Can I trust you with what happened here today? Will this be an issue?"

Harry stared at Ron and then back out the window. "No, sir. You can trust me. I swear it on my magic."

I nodded grimly. Potter was a good young man. He was dedicated, and he had followed every rule. One day, he would be fine Auror teaching the newest batch of greenies the robes.

"Take Weasley to Mungo's," I said. "Check him in at the Auror Admissions desk. I'll take care of the rest. Then go home, get some sleep, and report back to Savage and Proudfoot in the morning."

"Yes, sir," Potter answered, nodding his head firmly. He looked out into the garden. "Sir?"

"Hrm?"

"Is Hermione going to be okay?"

I watched Hermione flop on her back with her paws in the air, letting Proudfoot rub her belly. "Yes, Harry. She's going to be fine."

Harry smiled. "Then that's all I need to know." He grabbed a handful of Weasley's robes and Disapparated.

* * *

 _ **Rita Skeeter Severely Injured In Attack By Fugitive Death Eater Fenrir Greyback**_

 _Reporter Rita Skeeter, whether you love her or hate her, has brought many controversial articles to the Prophet throughout her time as one of our reporters, but it seems her career has finally come to an end thanks to a run-in with the notorious werewolf and Death Eater, Fenrir Greyback._

 _Ms Skeeter suffered multiple severe injuries when Fenrir Greyback attacked her during his invasion of the family home of noted war heroine, Hermione Granger. Rita Skeeter was crushed as a result of the werewolf's merciless attack, leaving her spine broken and her body paralysed. While her bones have been reset and aligned, Healers say that the nerve damage was too extensive to fix. Ms Skeeter will most likely be crippled for life. While there is some hope that she may regain partial feeling and movement in her upper body at some point, the healers seem to think Skeeter could still find herself totally paralysed for the rest of her life._

 _As for why Ms Skeeter was at the Granger residence in the first place, especially after Ms Granger's request to be left in peace after the war, is anyone's guess._

 _Fenrir Greyback, known fugitive, murderer, werewolf, Death Eater, and serial child molester, met his end on the operating tables of St Mungo's after being brought in to treat his injuries after what has been described as 'a battle to the death', Greyback was apparently determined to not be taken alive. His crimes, which have managed to accrue him more than ten separate rewards for his capture, dead or alive, in both Wizarding and Muggle Britain, have insured that Hermione Granger and Hogwarts' Potions Master, Professor Severus Snape, who were primarily responsible for Greyback's capture, which was witnessed by our new Minister for Magic, Kingsley Shacklebolt, will receive more than enough compensation to insure a very early and well-deserved retirement. Suffice to say, neither need work another day of their lives, unless they truly wish to do so._

 _Both Ms Granger and Professor Snape are donating a significant part of their reward monies to the rebuilding of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, which have been gratefully accepted by the newly-appointed headmistress of Hogwarts, Professor Minerva McGonagall. The pair have also donated funds to overhaul of the equipment, offices, and other facilities at the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, which had been shockingly ransacked and pillaged under our last Minister for Magic, Pius Thicknesse, who had been under a very strong Imperius Curse to sabotage everything that might be used to hinder the late Dark Lord Voldemort's reign of terror._

 _After so much has been taken from us during the war, I believe that I am not alone in being truly thankful that strong, courageous people such as Hermione Granger and Severus Snape are willing to not only step up to defend us from those who would tear our world apart, but also prove themselves as very generous, contributing members of our society._

 _We here at the Daily Prophet salute you and thank you for serving Wizarding Britain so faithfully._

* * *

 _ **Daycare Ripper's Reign of Terror on Children Finally Ends**_

 _After almost twenty years, the monster who was known only as the Daycare Ripper, has at last been apprehended._

 _Thanks to an elite team, whose members have not been revealed in respect for privacy, Fen Russell Grey chose to die rather than be apprehended. Cornered in a private residence in Hampstead, he went down fighting, attempting to stab and slash multiple people during the fight. True to his M.O., Mr Grey did not use guns, preferring to use the closer and more personal knives._

 _After more than a hundred abductions, attacks, and murders of adult and child alike, many were starting to think he would never be caught._

 _When a few victims' families pleaded to see the body so they could put their nightmares to rest, the medical examiner could only say that due to an astonishing and unprecedented amount of putrefaction, most of the Ripper's body reportedly liquefied in a matter of hours._

" _Rest assured, he was very, very dead," Dr Saunders said. "He was our guy. We did have the teeth to perform DNA testing. Oddly, the teeth had obviously been filed into points, which explains the horrific state of the child victims' remains. The bite pattern also perfectly matched those found on dozens of alleged Ripper victims for the last twenty years."_

" _I'm so relieved," Mrs Nichols cried as she hugged her remaining family members. "Finally, my baby girl will be able to rest in peace."_

* * *

 _ **A/N:**_ Fenrir Greyback was a horrible excuse for a human being and the very worst of the werewolves. I feel no guilt regarding his fate.


	2. The Yin and the Yang

**A/N:** Uh…. Hrm. Well, this chapter happened! Kinda sorta lemon alert somewhere in this chapter, but the gods only know where because this chapter is freaking LONG! (Why do I do this to myself?! Why do I torture my betas like this?! Why is it so darn HOT outside?! What is the square root of pi?)

 **Beta Love:** The Dragon and the Rose, Dutchgirl01

* * *

 **Hair of the Mongoose, Fangs of the Wolf**

 **Chapter 2**

 **The Yin and the Yang**

 _"Never be ashamed of a scar. It simply means you were stronger than whatever tried to hurt you."_

 _-Unknown_

* * *

 _-Kingsley-_

"I'm not sure what you did to garner such loyalty, Kings," Healer Everwood chuckled, "but I am glad you're here."

Hermione had her mouth open, giving Everwood a good dose of her wolfish breath. Severus was watching them very, very closely, but Hermione was being quite cooperative. Personality wise, at least as a wolf, Hermione seemed more amiable and willing to oblige.

I'd known Daisy Everwood since she and I were kids. We'd practically been siblings, and it was often that our parents boggled as to which child was theirs. It was made even more interesting by the fact Daisy was a white as the flower of her name. Daisy had a calm and friendly bedside manner, and she had always been the most kind and compassionate sort of person. She tried to mend birds and squirrels that showed up injured, and sometimes she had surges of accidental healing magic that did just that. Becoming a healer had just been one logical step everyone had expected. Her being a healer for the agents? Well, that was my fault. I regret nothing.

"Daisy Belle," I muttered. "You have _no_ idea what it's like being a dire wolf magnet."

Daisy flashed me a smile as she swabbed Hermione's mouth and and examined the row of secondary teeth. "I'm not sure how that many teeth fit in one mouth," she said, examining them. There are _two_ extra rows in there, not just one. And then there are the hollow point fangs that fold behind the canines."

"What?" I asked, peering at her like she was mad, but knowing she wasn't joking.

Daisy grunted as Hermione had had enough and she snatched Daisy's healer's hat and trotted off, shaking it menacingly and making deep growling noises. She plopped down next to the wary Severus, but he pinned her down with one foreleg and proceeded to groom her dutifully.

Neither wolf had shifted back yet from their latest change, but Daisy had speculated that was because they hadn't slept yet. That was usually the trigger for the change, or at least it had always been that way for Severus. Even on full moon nights, the change didn't happen unless he slept. We had always figured that was the time when he was the most relaxed and the wolf could come forth painlessly with much less resistance. The same seemed to be the case for the change back.

They had made a few shifts back and forth from human to wolf in the last week, but it seemed that Hermione's wolf was more inclined to rear her head with emotional surges, and that would trigger Severus to join her almost immediately. They had managed to hold it together long enough to take care of some unfinished business and collect the copious rewards they earned for bringing in Fenrir Greyback, but only just. Each time they succumbed to human exhaustion or emotion, they would become wolves again— sniffing, chasing each other, and following me around like my own personal body guards. I had to admit that no one was likely to come after me with two gargantuan beasts flanking me everywhere. The cover story for the majority of the normal populace was that the two beasts had imprinted on me after I had rescued them from one of the Dark Lord's experimental projects. It was a partial truth, but enough that people were inclined to give them and me a much larger personal space. The agents knew the truth, each having been drilled with code AW since Severus had been a newly-bitten victim.

Hermione had tolerated the magical collar with a little disgruntled rolling and trying to push it off by attempting to make like a hamster and squeeze herself out of it, but eventually she settled and gave in. She knew it was a necessary evil. The collar had their identification, my contact information, and all the things that would make it clear they were not just some random wild animal roaming the world unchecked. It also had a tracking charm on it so I would always know where they were, not that they ever moved that far away from me.

All and all, she was acting much like a pup, sticking her nose into everything, wanting to know everything, and absconding with every hat she could sink her teeth into. Severus was looking on with sort of detached attentiveness, making sure he knew where she was at all times yet seemingly content to allow her to inspect the world on her terms. Hermione would find "something interesting" and drag it back to him for him to sniff, and then she would bound off to find something else. Poor Daisy— her exam room would never be the same.

"My best guess is another mutation, Kings," Daisy Belle said, handing me a cold glass of lemonade. "Whatever latent mutation gene was in Severus responded to the venom and was assimilated into the were-trait. That made it possible for him to pass it on to Hermione. Yet, as we can see from the rather messy end of the unfortunate Fenrir Greyback, their bites are far more inclined to be fatal than contagious."

"Are you going to be able to devise an antivenin for them?" I asked.

Daisy held up the makeshift venom-milking jar. A litre of venom donated by each werewolf shimmered within. "Oh, I think we'll be able to, provided we can find a host animal that has the appropriate qualities to create the antivenin for us. Liam seems to think that as long as we use very small amounts, we can stick with using the hippogriffs to culture the anti-venin."

"That's a bit more than a small amount," I noted.

Daisy smiled. "Fenrir really didn't have a chance," she said. "This venom is a cocktail of neurotoxins, hemotoxins, cytotoxins, and cardiotoxins. It was probably pure hatefulness and spite that kept him alive long enough to even get here."

Curious eyes were peeking in through the window, and I knew it was time to introduce the two wolves to their potential healers. Each of them had been sworn into a higher level of Ministry secrecy than the standard healer confidentiality agreement, all of them were under very specific Vows, not that they really needed them at this point. Each of them had proven themselves as being of unimpeachable character, as far as I was concerned. They had patched up so many agents in various states from merely hurt to critically injured. They had to know the particulars of _exactly_ what had happened to them. Healers, in my opinion, were simply amazing beings.

Hermione and Severus were standing on their hind legs, front paws splayed across the protective safety glass. One of the healers had placed his hand out to compare size. You could see the total amazement on their faces.

Daisy had been the very first test, and Hermione and Severus had passed it with flying colours. So far we had introduced them, singularly at least, to about twenty individual healers and various other agents who would very possibly be working with them at some point. This would be their first introduction to more than one person at a time, and they had all been prepped on safety protocol, wolf body language, and that little something extra that can only come from dealing with a magical animal that wasn't capable of speaking to you, so they could not warn you that they were preparing to eat your face off if you didn't stop that right _now_.

Daisy had set up a protective energy barrier for that specific purpose. They would allow the healers to pass through, but they would keep the wolves in check… at least we _hoped_ they would. Time for theory to meet practice.

Daisy waved the others in, and they filed in slowly and warily. It wasn't true fear, but it was reasonable caution, which was probably a very good thing. Severus and Hermione had slowly been introduced to wands being used around them. We started with sticks shaped into wands, and Hermione was quite adamant about checking them over with her teeth for a few days. Daisy had a suspicion that Hermione was fully aware of the difference between a stick and a wand— even if they looked the same, but no one wanted to risk their beloved wand to test that theory.

Daisy, however, was confident after watching and working with them, and so she pulled out her wand out to perform some basic health scans— everything she would do if she had to treat them. She lost her hat, but Hermione left her wand completely unmolested. Neither wolf seemed inclined to view wands as a threat, at least when wielded by those they perceived to be friendlies. Daisy had grinned at me with that "I told you so" look.

"How did you know?" I asked her as the other healers introduced themselves to the two werewolves. The most easily accepted ones surrendered their hats to Hermione, and I made a mental note to add that to the list of introductory protocols.

"I've treated quite a few werewolves," Daisy admitted easily. "The balance between the human and wolf in these two is truly remarkable, perhaps even symbiotic. They don't resist the change at all— the wolf simply surfaces. You've seen Mr Lupin a few times back before he started living in the villages. Even the few agents we have that have to be locked up during the moon nights are very predictably violent and irrational. The change is torturous. The change back is almost more violent. By the time they come to in the morning, they aren't in much shape to be useful for hours."

Daisy chortled as Hermione had run off with Healer Ashleigh's sash, tail up and wagging with pure mischief. "Most werewolves change to become the very worst aspects we want to see. These two seem to harbour the best. They think, they reason, and they watch very, very carefully. It would make sense they would know the difference between a wand and something that only _looks_ like a wand— just like they judge threat versus friendly behaviour."

"Higher reasoning," I mused. I'd been trying to tell people that Severus was more than just a giant wolf that protected me for years, but to hear it from Daisy made me feel quite validated about my own perceptions of him. Daisy did not have a friendship and working relationship with Severus to cloud her judgement, nor did she believe that I was biased. I did, however, trust Severus implicitly. That was, perhaps, a sort of bias all on its own. I knew, however, that Severus would stay at my side while we were "working." I could totally rely on him. I could also rely on Hermione staying right by his side and following his example.

"I need to check on Auror Tonks," I said with a sigh. "She took a right good blow to the head while fighting at Hogwarts. She spent the end of the battle trying to bleed out over the flagstones."

"She's getting pretty restless, Kings," Daisy told me. "We're keeping her stable as we regrow the bones in her leg, but if you don't have something for her to do when she finally wakes up, she's going to crawl right out of her hospital bed and get herself in trouble. Fortunately for both us and her, she's been unconscious for the duration. And that's probably for the best. That Skele-gro is seriously nasty stuff."

I snorted. "Moody hated that about her. Pink hair, shockingly clumsy, and an utterly kind heart. He hated that he'd try to be stern to someone, and she'd go and make nice with them like they were all going out for a spot of tea."

"She's a well-meaning lass, but she's hardly agent material. She's much too soft-hearted and kind," Daisy commented realistically. "If she were, say, a healer, it wouldn't really be an issue, but I think she uses her natural Metamorphmagus abilities to avoid trouble. She's a skilled Auror, good with people, but I think Alastor was really frustrated that he could never invite her in."

I watched Severus snuffle over the Healers, letting his keen nose lead him where it would. All of them were sitting on the floor, allowing the pair to walk around them peaceably. I was so glad to see it. They hadn't let me down yet.

Suddenly, something hit me.

"Daisy, what would you say to training Tonks up as a healer?" I asked. Tonks was a real people person. She loved to see people smile. Perhaps the solution had been right under our noses all along. Moody had been so very determined to make her a warrior— a fighter, that he hadn't been open to the idea that maybe what Nymphadora really needed was simply a change in focus.

Daisy tilted her head. "She's got the requisite care for people, that's for sure," she said. "You may be onto something, Kings." She paused, thinking. "Poppy over at Hogwarts said she was looking for someone to help her. She's trained a lot of fine mediwitches for us. Perhaps, she could start there— see if healing is more her calling. She'd also get to help rebuild Hogwarts, and I think a lot of people want to see Hogwarts back up and running as soon as possible."

I ran my fingers along my jaw. "I think you're onto something," I agreed. "Feel her out, ya? Get back to me."

"You got it, boss," Daisy said with a wink. I was hardly her boss, as we worked different areas, but she loved to call me that just to heckle me. I was always keeping a sharp lookout for people she could use, and she did the same for me.

A low, joint growl caught my attention, and I leapt up immediately. Severus and Hermione were staring at a young healer, black lips pulled back from exceedingly sharp teeth as they glared fiercely at him.

The young healer was obviously petrified, but he was also looking pretty confused. I could tell that whatever it was the wolves had sensed, he had no clue why he was being singled out. It was not the response of a guilty man. Severus and Hermione were not advancing on him either. They just kept him pinned with their rather intimidating stares and bulk. It didn't take much. Severus had been intimidating all on his own. Double that, and I'm pretty sure I could have had even Fenrir's lieutenants pissing themselves without the need to wait for a moon night.

"Severus," I called. "Hermione."

Twin sets of ears swiveled back to listen to me, but they kept staring intently at the young healer.

Something was off, I realized. Somehow, I was missing something here.

The other healers had gone still, but the werewolves were ignoring them.

"Healer Peters?" Daisy addressed the rather frightened-looking young healer. "Why are you dressed in blue today?"

"These were in my locker, ma'am," Peters said, his voice trembling. "I thought the elves had taken my robes for mending after that scuffle on level three."

My instincts were setting off alarm bells. I had my wand out and performed a series of scans on him. He was clean of Dark magic, but there was a lingering residue of it on his robes. Dark wizards and witches were like smokers. They reeked, magically, of their Dark magic. Most people responded to strong taints with nervousness and unease, but it took considerable training to tell the difference between Dark magic taint and simply abrasive personalities. Perhaps, that is why Moody always had it out for Severus. He had _both_. Mind you, Severus had been authorised for every single Dark spell he'd ever cast. At every debriefing he would hand me a vial of memories of every spell he'd had to cast and the circumstances in which it was cast. The memories were kept in safekeeping to cover him in case someone like Moody should get it into their head to go after Severus. Moody was an all-around good bloke and a damned fine Auror, but he had his fair share of flaws, just like the rest of us. I had a thing for bold and boisterous colours that seemed to attract hummingbirds like bees to honey. We all had our individual foibles.

I decided that refocus was needed. "Severus. Hermione," I said. "Peters, I want you to take that robe off, very, very slowly and pass it over to me."

They were all healers, right? Nothing they hadn't seen before—

The rather embarrassed healer slowly de-robed, passing them to me. Sure enough, Hermione and Severus ignored him completely, glaring at the fabric with determined focus. I held it out to them as Peters breathed a deep sigh of relief. I could tell he was going to be fine. He realised that he wasn't the target, and thankfully my being able to distract the wolves helped them have confidence in both me and the two wolves.

Something Daisy had said tickled the back of my mind. "They could tell the difference between a wand and a stick made to look like a wand. What if they could— I had to know.

"Find it," I said softly. "Take me to the source." I'd done scent training with Severus on a few occasions just to help pass the time on moon nights. He was actually quite good at it. Hermione was a very quick study, much like her human self, and they got the message instantly. I'd actually considered training Severus for search and rescue, but I figured that being "rescued" by a gigantic dire werewolf was probably going to scare the living daylights out of whoever we were trying to save.

Severus took point and dashed out the door with Hermione hot in pursuit. They blew right past the magical "bars" that Daisy had put up like they were nothing but air. I stared at Daisy a moment before I realised I had to follow and fast. Daisy had an utterly dumbfounded expression on her face. She was an extremely skilled witch. This wasn't her first rodeo, and the fact that Severus and Hermione had just blown by the magical bars she created would have her questioning the potency of her spellwork for weeks.

Severus was on a mission, and his demeanor had gone from casual wolf, if there was such a thing, to working wolf. It was as though he knew the difference between the things that mattered and when he was allowed to do whatever came natural. Hermione was watching him closely, but she was also following her nose, and they were both hot on the heels of whatever had left residue on the robes. I had no doubt they were tracking the Dark taint.

The wolves were utterly focused. They ignored everyone else. The light brown collars designated them as working animals, so most people dismissed it as Aurors doing a sweep. Mind you, the size of these two were enough to make a few people seriously consider laying off Ogden's firewhisky for life.

I saw Potter sitting outside one of the private rooms, and I knew he was keeping vigil for his old friend. Auror or no, we all had those we cared about, and you didn't turn that off just because your best mate spectacularly failed a field test. Not everyone was cut out for espionage, and that wasn't a bad thing, really. Severus and Hermione would probably be the first to tell a new recruit that if they weren't positively sure they could lie to their mother and be okay about it that they should walk back out the door and not try to become an Auror.

"Potter, assist me, please," I said.

Harry was out of his chair and wearing his game face in a split second. Good reflexes. Good obedience. He was going to make a fine Auror. There was no way he couldn't have seen the wolves go by, but to his credit, he knew to stay put until asked. I had high hopes for him.

"What did you need, sir?" he asked.

"They are tracking a Dark signature. Make sure people aren't crowding them.

"Yes, sir," he replied. He pulled out the brown "I'm working" sash and tied it around his waist. We couldn't always count on being in uniform when things happened. I was happy to see he hadn't neglected to carry his sash for such emergencies.

We reached our first "conflict" down a large corridor. Severus wanted to plough ahead, but Hermione wanted to go into the supply closet. Severus didn't want to continue without her, and Hermione didn't want to go with Severus. There was something behind that door she really wanted to check out.

Hermione made a form growling speech to him. Severus pinned his ears back. Hermione whined and growled. Severus replied in kind. Severus moved to leave, but Hermione shook her head, whuffing at him. She placed her paws on the door with a thump.

I decided to help settle the argument.

"Easy, let me check the door, okay Hermione?" I told the wolf.

Hermione whined, scratching at the door. Her disturbingly elongated tongue slithered out like a serpent's, tasting the air.

Well, that was pretty much confirmation regarding Nagini's influence on their magical DNA.

She stuffed her nose into my hand as I turned the knob, my wand out in case something came busting out.

A crumpled body lay on the floor of the closet, half-covered in mops and brooms. Cast-aside healer robes lay on the floor, and the man was quite naked. Apparently, someone had used the other robes to get close to another healer— someone who needed this specific healer's robes. This guy was unconscious and of no use to us. Severus was growling a warning, giving a strange bark to remind me that the trail was still hot and going somewhere else.

Harry had summoned backup via Patronus, and they were coming in behind. Good thinking.

"Perez, Goldman, please take care of this man," I said.

"Aye, boss," they chimed.

I snorted. Boss was _much_ better than Minister.

"Potter, with me again," I said, following Severus, who was bounding down the hall again. Hermione, now satisfied, followed. It was good to know there was an effective working relationship with Severus and Hermione. They may not have had time to do so as humans, but as wolves, they were honing their blade together into a fine, sharp edge of perfection. For whatever reason, I was drawn into that web. They were as tied to me as they were to each other. Was it a pack? Trust? A kindling of respect of the people to the wolf? I didn't really know for sure. Whatever it was, it was working. They were allowing me to be their guide— the pack leader. They were putting their trust in me. I couldn't… _ever_ let them down.

Severus and Hermione skidded to a door, their claws doing unspeakable things to the poor hospital tile. Both wolves seemed agitated by the slippery surface, and they glared at the floor as if it had committed some sort of heinous crime against wolf-kind. They sniffed the air and stuck their noses to the bottom of the door, their breaths emitting in panting and loud huffs of moist air. Severus and Hermione looked up at me with perked ears. Long sinuous, forked tongues flicked in and out, tasting the air.

No, that wasn't creepy at _all_.

Good thing I was used to strange and unusual.

Potter was keeping the gathering crowd back— curious folk with curious eyes. This was, thankfully, the Auror and agent floor, so the healers were all sworn to secrecy and had pretty much seen it all— Well, except for giant mutant dire werewolves though. Oh, well. Now they had.

Severus and I had worked extensively with hand signals and commands, but Hermione— well, her human self obviously knew them all, but how much would her wolf know? I gave the signal to stand back, and both wolves watched me carefully as I opened the door. My wand was out, Potter's wand was out, and I'm pretty sure that Severus and Hermione would have had theirs out if they had known how. Their ears were fully erect, tails stiff, and teeth bared. Close enough.

As I reached for the door, Hermione's jaws closed lightly around my wrist. Her amber eyes stared up at me meaningfully, a soft whine rising up from her throat. Severus curled his lips back from his teeth, looking extremely focused and ready to get at whatever was behind said door.

"Potter, back up very slowly," I directed. I too, did I told him. I cast _Homenum Revelio_ very quietly, and saw nothing but a figure lying in the bed. I felt nothing out of the ordinary.

Severus growled, the sound causing a few objects to rattle on their tables. No, there was _definitely_ something there. Severus wasn't the kind of wolf to hallucinate something that wasn't there. Hermione was also very insistent, trying to protect me. There was something in there, but maybe it wasn't even human. This could be bad. Very, very bad.

My eyes flicked to the door plaque. Room seven fifty two— wasn't that Tonks' room?

Now things were getting even worse. What was that phrase the new crop of young Aurors were using? Terribad. Yeah, I had a feeling this was going to definitely qualify as terribad.

I gestured for the healers to clear out the rooms and move patients and other medical personnel out of the area. There was no telling what we would find, much less what would happen, and there was also no telling just _how_ bad it would be and how soon it would be happening. Fortunately, healers were speedy creatures when the need arose. They were like roadrunners in lime green healer robes. Rooms were swiftly cleared. Halls were swiftly cleared. Damn these people were efficient.

I pointed my wand at the door, and whispered, " _Alohomora_."

Potter and I quickly backed up as the door creaked open like a haunted house in a Muggle horror movie. Seriously? Was there some law that said if you were up to no good, the doors at the scene of your crime must all sound like their hinges needed a thorough greasing?

That's all I had time for as an oily-looking black tentacle shot out from the door like the gates of the Elder Gods had just been opened. The tentacle snatched the supply cart that I had been standing by, crushing it as easily as a dried out twig.

The two werewolves were a blur in motion— snarling as they jumped on the tentacle, each sinking their teeth into the rubbery flesh as it jerked back into the room, taking the wolves with it.

"Merlin!" Harry gasped. "What the bloody fuck was _that_?!"

"A large angry tentacle from somewhere south of Hades?" I replied rather dryly. I couldn't help myself. Obvious commentary was my preferred form of self-defense against freaking out like a green Auror newbie who had never seen so much as a drop of blood before.

Two tentacles slammed onto the floor right next to us, apparently disapproving of the content of our conversation. They didn't look in especially good shape. I recognised the telltale smell of rot and the puddles of curdled-looking blood. Whatever it was, it clearly was not immune to the mutant wolf creatures that Hermione and Severus had become. It was often speculated that Dark creatures could only be defeated by other Dark creatures. One could drive off a Dark creatures with a Patronus, but destruction— obliteration— could only come from one cut from the same cloth. It was only a theory as no one had ever actually proven it, but many higher-learning types believed that was why we had never been overrun by Dementors and Lethifolds. They could die, normally. How then, were they not everywhere?

Whatever Dark magic the Dark lord had imbued Nagini with had definitely been passed on to Severus and Hermione— the difference was that they were _nothing_ like a Dementor or a Lethifold. They were… far more evolved, capable of higher thought, and willing to protect creatures other than themselves.

Obviously the Dark taint had affected them both on a visceral level but if they were truly Dark creatures, would they even have cared?

My thoughts kept me from trembling as I waited for another tentacle to come out, and sure it enough it did, taking out another cart full of scalpels. Holy—

Potter had cast a protective shield over us. The pointed metal instruments deflected off the surface. I shoved him away just as the tentacle came slamming down where he had been just before. It made a disgusting squelching sound as the suction cups stuck tightly to the tile.

I was never going to eat octopus again. Then again, maybe I would— for a sense of vengeance.

I sent off a quick slicing hex, and the tentacle was sheared away, sending a spray of greenish blood out to paint the hall. My stomach churned. Nasty stuff.

People used to say they never saw the Minister for Magic actually protecting the people with magic. Well, now they would. The severed tentacle writhed and smashed into the walls, knocking everything over as it convulsed down the hall, causing a few healers to scream and flee in terror.

I didn't blame them. Not one bit.

Crashing, growling, snarling, and the gnashing of teeth came from the open door as the entire wall gave way, exposing the writhing, oily darkness of nightmares made form. Tentacles swarmed as the wolves battled, biting, tearing, and ripping any flesh they could reach. The venom was trying to do its part as well. Despite this, the monster was starting to gather into a more solid form and didn't seemed to be slowing down at all. Severus was doing most of the attacking, distracting the beast, and Hermione was tackling the tentacles that got too close to what I dearly hoped was an uninjured Auror Tonks.

"Sir, would it help if we cast our Patroni?" Harry asked.

I nodded, and we pointed our wands to the massive Dark creature, conjuring our Patroni to our call. Potter's silvery stag and my lynx worked in tandem to bind the tentacles, and Severus and Hermione did the rest. Their claws raked wounds down each tentacle as their teeth sank in for multiple bites.

I saw the swirling dark cloud that they seemed to come from, and I realised that the tentacles, while assuredly dangerous, were coming from a source. I gestured to Potter, and we focused our Patroni on the nebulous mass of darkness.

We blasted together, and then I realised that we weren't alone. Many of the Healers were starting to join in, adding their Patroni to the mix, driving back the Darkness with the radiant purity of light. While my Patronus was not a thing formed from a vacuum, the healer's Patroni came with a feeling of warmth that displayed their heart of hearts. There was no doubt at that moment that these were true healers. Their magic was forged inside hearts that did their utmost to help others. They walked the powerful and righteous path of healing, and their magic was immensely strong.

A loud scream came from the center of the room as the wounded creature abruptly burst into flames, exploding outward, spraying a hideous rain of black gore. The two wolves stood over the body of Auror Tonks, their ivory fangs still bared fiercely as they watched the dying creature give its final death rattle.

A _ting, ting, ting_ ing sound as something shiny and metal dropped to the tiled floor and rolled towards us. A golden signet ring came to rest at our feet.

It was the signet ring of the Ancient Pureblood House of Selwyn.

"Oh, hey there, puppies," Auror Tonks' weary voice said as Hermione and Severus were cleaning the spatter of blood off her face. She was petting them as affectionately as she would a familiar hound. Her eyes were rather glassy, and her expression was more than a little dazed. "Don't tell mum, okay? I'll hide you in my closet."

With that, Auror Tonks promptly passed out again.

The swarm of healers moved in to take care of Tonks like the Red Sea swallowing up the unlucky armies of Egypt.

* * *

 _-Severus-_

I woke with the kind of comforting, relentless warmth that normally comes when you _really_ want to stay in bed, but you know you have a class in thirty minutes or a Dark Lord is summoning you out of a glorious deep sleep. My nose was pressed into the near-sentient curls of one bushy-haired witch. Her intoxicating scent of citrus, sandalwood, and moonflower caused me to growl softly. Before, she had this hint of deadly nightshade about her, and it had been quite appealing, but now it had shifted into the subtle, sweet scent of moonflower. It was still _very_ alluring. This had happened every morning since the day Hermione had made her first shift — during the daylight hours— and it had triggered my own.

The first time we woke up together, we had practically flung ourselves out of bed and put on the others' clothes before realising we were putting on the wrong set of robes. We were so desperate to maintain at least some sense of decorum that all we succeeded in doing was to embarrass ourselves even more. We'd go to sleep in separate rooms, but we'd always wake up together. We'd fall asleep in different places, we'd still wake up together. One time we woke up sans clothing lying in the cool grass of a public park. Thank the gods it was early morning and we didn't traumatise someone's child for life.

Kingsley had finally convinced us to wear our tracking collars at all times so that it didn't happen again, and ever since then, we'd been waking up in bed together. I suppose that is better than waking up on the green near the children's duck pond on a Saturday afternoon— or sprawled on some random Muggle's pristine front lawn.

Strangely enough, when we, the human sides of this werewolf affair, stopped trying to avoid each other, we stopped waking up in the wilderness, parks, campgrounds, and other such places. Kingsley blamed himself for not being around as much due to being Minister for Magic and having to do all the official things none of us really wanted to. He had tried to assign us temporary handlers to keep track of us during our sleep-induced shifts, but apparently our wolves thought it was some kind of game to see how long it took to ditch the handlers.

I wasn't sure if we should apologise for that or not.

Our Orders of Merlin for the war, dealing with Greyback, and the "thing that showed up at Mungo's and tried to eat their patients" hung on the wall over our massive fireplace. Our wolves were truly saving the world.

Hermione and I had discussed things quite extensively, and the both of us seemed rather content with our monstrous lupine alter-egos. They weren't running amok and killing people, not at all. They were actually _saving_ lives. Not many werewolves could say that.

As for waking up with a warm, naked witch next to me— I was hardly complaining. At first we had tried to keep a polite distance from each other, but after getting to know each other, we did finally admit we had quite a lot in common, we shared most of the same interests, and we even had the same disdain for dunderheads. Mine was honed to a precise razor edge, but she was just jaded enough to achieve a perfect understanding of where I was coming from. Now that the war was over, we had far more in common than not, and our lupine alter-egos were truly determined to remain together. After a while, we both realised that we didn't have a problem with that at all. All I had to do was get over my knee-jerk reaction to suppress any and all desire lest it be read by the Dark Lord or worse— Albus.

I nuzzled my face against hers, moving my mouth slowly over to the joint of her neck and shoulder, taking a little skin between my teeth. She let out a soft, needy growl, pulling me down on top of her.

"Morning," she murmured.

I arched a brow. "Good morning," I replied.

Hermione moved against me, pressing her face into my chest and taking a large intake of air, savouring my scent. I knew that was what she was doing because on many a morning, that is exactly what I did.

We had, at least until now, resisted the powerful drive to merge ourselves, mind, body, soul, and wolf— afraid, perhaps, for what it might mean or what it might do to the delicate balance between human and wolf. It wasn't that we feared the wolf. We feared it would upset the balance— the very magic that kept us so perfectly in tune. To lose that balance could endanger Kingsley, and neither of us wanted that. We had quite a few close calls of almost intimacy, but I had clamped my controls down over myself. Each time had felt like I was trying to sever a limb and then walk around without it. Hermione had seemed to far more comfortable with the possibility; the scent of her desire had been unmistakable.

It wasn't her; it was me.

That was such a lame thing to say. I couldn't quite get over that she had accepted such a fate so easily. I couldn't get over the tingle of doubt that said her attraction to me was because of the wolf, nothing more. My attraction to her was undeniable, but was it real or just some animal pheromones screwing with our minds? Hermione's small touches and affection seemed genuine. She said she had accepted her fate as a werewolf. She was okay with it.

Hermione had wondered if Alastor would have been able to accept her transformation. As much as she admired the cranky old dodger, she knew that he had very solid lines of what was acceptable and what was not. Dark magic was Dark magic to him. There had never been middle ground for Mad-Eye.

However, as I loomed over Hermione, my teeth bared as I took in her scent and practically tasted her on my tongue, I knew that some Power or deity had been looking out for us. How else could such a perfect storm of random events have brought us together in such an unexpected way? No one could have known that Lupin's bite would have awoken some latent gene in me. I couldn't have known that Nagini's bite would have mutated my already strange mutation of lycanthropy. Hermione definitely didn't plan to get bitten by me. I could have easily killed her instead of turning her. By all logical counts, we should have died, multiple times at that, yet we did not.

We had both lived.

We had both evolved.

Together.

I stared down at her— so perfect and powerful— wanting nothing more than to worship her every curve. Yet, even as this desire rose within me, my brain started off on its own tangent.

My time served with two half-mad masters, each believing the other to be the sucker had made it impossible for me to find true friends. Death Eaters did not have friends as much as they had compatriots who also followed the will of the Dark Lord. Dumbledore had used me as everything from his spy to the person who picked up his case of lemon sherberts from the obscure Muggle confectionary store that made them— in bulk. I couldn't apprentice anyone. I couldn't befriend anyone. The closest to a friend that I had all those years was Minerva, and she and I had to do a little mending now that she knew the truth of why I had killed Albus. I did regret not being able to tell her, but Albus was determined that Minerva would be left in the dark. At least, now, she would be able to clean up Hogwarts and make it the school what it should have been all along. Bring in some new blood, teachers who were intelligent and prepared to make education their top priority. Not hiring any more pretentious, preening fops like Gilderoy Lockhart or dizzy, sherry-swilling lunatics like Sybil Trelawney would be a fine start. Put some more stringent rules in place regarding the illegal breeding and acquisition of magical animals and make sure one Rubeus Hagrid would follow them to the letter, and Hogwarts would improve that much more.

Hermione gave me a soft noise of disappointment as my mind drifted off from the moment at hand. Viewing my pause as disinterest or a display of steadfast control over my primal impulses, she pulled away, her scent reflecting this by changing to the dull, sullen odour of parched earth. It wasn't anything new for me to control myself, but we had become closer and more comfortable with each other. Hermione had often sought my touch and my scent, but I had a feeling that every time I shut down the chance for intimacy that part of Hermione was taking it as any logical woman would: rejection.

My wolf was unhappy as well, voicing his own displeasure by giving me a very sharp mental chomp on the rump. I growled lowly.

Hermione froze, and I could see the ghost of wolf ears lay flat on her head. I had sent a message, but it was the wrong one.

"I'm sorry," she said, vacating the bed in a smooth motion. "It was forward of me. I should show better control."

She fled before I could say anything more, leaving with the hint of her warmth in the bed and the memory of her skin pressed to mind as her genuine smile had greeted me. I cursed myself for being an idiot. Here was a fine, intelligent, witch who didn't mind waking up naked next to me, showed interest in me, shared interests with me, hoped I would take her up on her invitations for lovemaking, and I mucked it up over and over again.

Severus Snape, master spy and utterly deplorable and inept lover was the master high espionage and failure at proving to Hermione that she was beautiful, powerful— damn it all.

To top it off, my little friend down below had been more than happy to oblige her, and now I was painfully uncomfortable. I relieve my condition, I used what had always worked before: thinking of the memory of Lockhart kissing his own portrait, the mental image of Argus Filch tied up in pink ribbon presenting himself to Umbridge, and Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore naked. Horror and relief came hand in hand, and the painful pressure down below eased.

My lips pulled back from my teeth as my wolf tried to get a track on Hermione— tasting her scent in the air. I could feel my phantom ears pin back and my tail tuck between my legs. Her beautiful, alluring scent was stale and dry, cloaked by the scent of herbal shampoo and bath soap My wolf was unhappy. My mate was unhappy. Do something.

Hermione was not my mate! I clenched my hands into fists.

She could be, if you stopped _thinking_ about it and started _doing_ something about it.

I got up, my legs carrying me toward the bathroom in auto-pilot. I can't say what I was thinking, or even if I was thinking, but I wanted— needed— to mend the social insult I had committed.

Hermione exited just as I got there, her hair wrapped in a turban of towel and a large towel wrapped around her body. She looked up at me, and for a minute I saw a tender warmth in her eyes. But like a cloud passing over the sun, I saw her controls slip into place, driving her emotion from her face.

"Hermione," I said, reaching to touch her cheek.

"I'll have breakfast ready by the time you get out," she said, heading down the hall— out of reach.

I envied the wolf its ability to be true to itself regardless of situation, even if I didn't agree with it's thinking Hermione was "ours." After serving two masters, freedom of choice was a thing. I didn't want her to be bound to me because of some freakish mutant magic. I didn't want happiness at the expense of her freedom.

But something in my heart was pleading with me that it wasn't some magic that was taking away our choice in the matter. Earlier I had thanked the gods for bringing us together, yet soon after I was doubting if the feelings between I and Hermione were our choice. I didn't deserve her after all I had done— sanctioned or no—but I wanted her. I needed her, and it was the most terrifying feeling. I wanted her to need me as well. It was selfish, prideful.

Only a few months after the war's official end, and my heart was already wanting to bind itself to this witch— the unsung heroine in ways most of the Wizarding world would not even realise. They would remember Potter forever, but they would never know what she had done to keep the boy alive. She had been filed away as a sidekick or best friend, but not an equal.

She was my equal, and no one outside our inner circle would ever know.

I stumbled after Hermione, my feet seeming like they were sticking to the wood by a sticking charm. Where had my finesse gone? I was tripping over my own feet. I stumbled into a side table, knocking over the lamp. I caught it awkwardly but stubbed my toe. I winced in pain, cradling the lamp as I tried to put it back into place, bracing myself against the sofa as I tried not to curse loudly.

Lucius Malfoy I was not.

"Severus, are you okay?" Hermione guided me to the other side of the sofa and sat me down. There was concern in her eyes. She pulled the throw over me to preserve my rather abysmal dignity.

Fantastic, Severus. Run around the house trying to make a good impression wearing nothing but your birthday suit. You are an exemplar human being. I curled my lip as I scolded myself, and Hermione winced, reading my facial expression as easily as one would read a book. That was what we were trained to do, after all. She pulled away after she had put a pillow behind my head to make me comfortable and turned to leave— again.

My hand shot out, grasping her arm. "Hermione," I breathed, ragged.

She looked at me with such shock that I dropped my hand, instantly ashamed.

"Please," I said. "Sit."

She looked like a first year sitting in my office for the first time, knowing that her punishment for something was going to be horrible but not knowing what. She sat, awkwardly, making as far as we had come with being comfortable with each other seem like we had taken many steps backwards.

"I do not know how to be kind," I said, staring into her. "I—" Curse my utter lack of word-suave. "You misunderstood. It is not lack of want that makes me pause. It is abundance."

She stared at me, suspicion and doubt dancing across her eyes.

I swallowed, and it felt like I was trying to swallow sand. "I dread that all you feel for me is because of some magic stealing away your choice. I could not bear it if you were bound to me because of my— biting you." I closed my eyes, willing my words to come forth. "I want it to be real. I need it to be real."

Hermione looked at me with a slight softening of her features, but she was unsure. I could be lying. I was master of it.

"I served two masters for decades, Hermione," I said. "Each gave me two choices: obedience or death. There was really only one choice, and while they would say I had a choice, I didn't. I do not want that for you, Hermione. I don't want to find out that the reason I wish to be so many things for you is because I have no choice— because you have no choice."

Hermione closed her eyes, looking sad. "You are brilliant, Severus, but are so thick, sometimes."

I blinked.

"What's the first thing we were taught to do when we suspected undo influence?" she asked softly, barely a whisper.

"Run a trace for Da—" Oh. I was an idiot. Of course the first thing she would do was run tests to make sure she wasn't being bound by some magical geas. The big question was: why hadn't I done the same thing.

 _Because you knew it was real_ , my heart and mind chimed in. _You knew it wasn't false. The gods put you together— not because they were forcing you to be together but because they knew you were perfect together._

What was the saying? Don't put your faith in the gods if you are just going to doubt them in the next hour.

If being turned into a giant dire werewolf with serpentine qualities was a blessing, what happened if you pissed them off?

I extended my hand to her— a peace offering. I dropped my mental shields. I exposed by insecurities. I took a chance that maybe, just maybe I hadn't screwed things up irreparably by making her think she wasn't desirable without the wolf. Hell, she was far more than merely just desirable. I caught the light stirrings of sandalwood and moonflowers and the hint of citrus on her skin.

Her fingers brushed lightly against my palm, and I hissed as the jolt of her magic ran along my skin like an electric current. My tongue flicked out even as I breathed in her scent, swirling it around in my mouth. Her scent clung tightly to my senses. I could feel— the inner line of fangs forming and unfolding for an entirely different purpose. It wasn't prey I was after this time.

I wanted _her_.

Slytherins prided themselves on the prized traits of Salazar Slytherin, but the biggest irony was that most of them were terrified of snakes. And they didn't particularly care for parselmouths. Despite rumours, they didn't dance with basilisks either. Most of them utterly loathed reptiles, yet when people referred to the Slytherins, they usually referred to them as "snakes".

Merlin, what would they think of me _now_?

I curved myself around Hermione, my arms pulling her close as my forked tongue slowly flicked in and out to taste her silky skin. She shuddered under me, her eyes rolling back with pleasure. Her towel fell away, and I growled and ran my hands down her flanks and upward towards her firm breasts. I covered one breast with my mouth, snaking my tongue out to brush over her inviting nipple. She bucked up against me almost immediately with a rather loud cry of pleasure and encouragement escaped from her throat. Her legs snaked out and clamped around my back, locking me against her as a low, predatory, and needful growl came from deep within her.

Oh my.

That sound and the wildness in her eyes utterly undid me. Our mouths fused as our tongues battled together, and I was touching her everywhere I could. I explored every inch of her skin, memorising every curve, mound, and its delectable texture. My fingers slid between her legs, and her dampness and heat were like a roaring furnace. Her pupils had completely swallowed up her irises and her eyes had gone a pure, fathomless black. She whimpered; she squirmed, and she growled. I knew I had never wanted anything or anyone more than I wanted _her_.

Her hands had manifested claws just enough to run faint scratches down my back, and I could feel them tingle and heal almost at the moment she made them. It had done much more than that— I absolutely _hungered_ for her. I panted, growled, nipped, and pinned her wrists to the sofa cushions even as I eyed her slender neck.

Its silky smooth surface was pale, yet flushed and inviting. She panted, whining, and growling. She tilted her head to the side in an obvious invitation.

"Please," she moaned. "Severus." My name on her lips— the almost exotic sound of it— sent jolts of intense pleasure down my spine.

I clamped my teeth down upon her neck, feeling her skin give way as my rather mutant mouth did exactly what it was designed to do. The lines between I and my wolf were blurring rapidly as the depth of the bond between man and beast was becoming stronger and infinitely more pleasurable. The venom trickled down her skin, but I knew she wasn't in pain. She panted heavily, her hands clawing my back as her legs relaxed invitingly, leaving no question as to what she desired. I rubbed my cheek against hers, teeth bared. I leaned close, exposing my neck— testing the depth of her own resolve and the connection to her own beast.

Where I had held back, Hermione had not. Her bond with her inner beast was virtually instantaneous and flawless. Where I may have fought to know the boundaries, Hermione had rejoiced in the lack, and her fangs sank into the skin of my throat, marking me as I had marked her, sending the flow of ecstasy into my bloodstream along with the venom cocktail we had been so strangely blessed with. Mind you, I don't think it would have been wise to go kissing random people with these mouths, but I had no intention to do anything but worship Hermione until the coming of Ragnarök and beyond.

I felt like a nubile teenager trying to figure out what to stick where, but I was distracted— her scent, her heat, the sound of her breaths— I wanted it all. I was pressing up against her, writhing, hot, and hungry.

 _Severus, please._

My eyes widened. She was looking at me with such hunger and need.

 _Please._

Her voice was in my head, clear as a cloudless sky.

 _Hermione?_

My hips moved without my permission, but her response was immediate. Her heat was all around me, pulling me in. I cried out, my nostrils flaring as a low growl loosed from my throat. I lost myself within her, primal and possessive, but, more than anything, I saw the look of mingled abandon and tender vulnerability in Hermione's face. I knew, with every thrust of my hips that I was forging the links of chain that bound me to her. Chords of magic and power twisted around our joined magical cores.

"I would be yours, if you would let me," I whispered into her skin— her very soul. "Yours and only yours. Until time itself comes to an end."

Her eyes met mine. I felt her hands against my cheeks as she pulled me down against her, our foreheads touching. "Under the sun or moon, I would be yours. Yours alone. And I would have you as mine. You and only you."

Cords of magic tightened, stronger than iron or silk.

We moved together, finding a primal rhythm together. We were one. We were eternal. We were endless.

We were standing on the end of the Abyss, staring into the great nothingness. What lay beyond it could be either our damnation or our salvation. It could be end of all magic or the door to the very heart of the arcane. Before we could have knowledge, we needed to have faith and make our way through the darkness to reach what lay beyond.

We were both at the very brink.

Hermione convulsed under me, casting herself body and soul into the Void, and I followed, my body joined with hers far too intimately to ever be parted from her again. The swirling blackness sucked us both into itself and ushered us into Oblivion.

* * *

 _-Hermione-_

"Whooooo!"

I opened one eye, yawning. I felt good. So much better than good, in fact. I could smell the hummingbirds on the feeder outside and hear them chirping energetically at each other, apparently arguing over which of them was in charge of said feeder. I flicked my ears, my tail thumping steadily against the sofa cushions.

 _Wait_.

I looked down at myself.

Fur, paws, claws— and tail. I ran my tongue over my teeth— and my second and third set of teeth, my eyes growing very wide. This surely _had_ to be a dream. Right?

 _Pop_.

Crinkles appeared with a large haunch of something. "Dinner, Mistress Hermione," he said. "Know mistress is very hungry when she wakes, I does."

 _Food. Glorious, wonderful food._

I jumped down on and trotted over at once.

 _Bless you, Crinkles._

"You is very welcome, Mistress Hermione," Crinkles beamed.

 _You can… understand me in this form?_

"Of course, Mistress," Crinkles answered.

I licked my chops and panted. That pleased me greatly. My tail was wagging nonstop, but hunger was foremost on my mind and strongly demanded that I do something about it. Forgetting about Crinkles for the moment, I pounced on the meat, tearing into it with gusto.

The human voice in my head was balking at the idea of raw meat, but it tasted positively wonderful. It smelled like the ambrosia of the gods. I wanted it in my stomach right the hell _now_.

Severus flopped right next to me and tore in hungrily too. Our tails beat a near-synchronised tattoo against the floor as we scarfed down as much meat as we could into our stomachs.

Even when I was finally full, which took quite a while, Severus continued to clean up the bones until there was not a scrap of flesh left on them. My hunger was, thankfully, appeased, and I felt as though I could think much more clearly. It's hard to think too deeply when food, food, food is the main thing on your mind. Wolves in the wild could go days or weeks between meals, gorging themselves whenever they made a kill to make up for the leaner times in-between. I wasn't sure what it was like for the average werewolf, but both Severus and I tended to gorge every other week or so, and then take it a little easier until next time, provided we had ample snacks in between. This information was all coming from Kingsley, as until now, I'd never been that aware in my wolf form.

Severus was licking my jowls and cleaning them of blood, and I returned the favour. No one likes to run around with evidence of their dinner all over their face, come on now.

 _Thanks,_ I said, giving him a good slurp across the muzzle.

 _You're welcome._

We stared at each other wide-eyed.

 _Severus?_

 _Hermione?_

Our tails were going a hundred miles a minute as we snuffled each other, groomed, and sniffed each other's rumps. We chased each other around, play bowed, chased each other some more, pranced together like two reindeer in a harness, and then flopped on each other, panting heavily.

After a while, I realised that while I was definitely cognisant or at least aware of me while being a wolf, the wolf and were seamlessly welded together. The same must have been going through Severus' head as well, as he had that look of consternation that usually happened when he was thinking hard about something. Seeing that look on a wolf's face was even more interesting, so I'm pretty sure I looked pretty comical as I pondered life as a wolf.

"Whooo."

The both of us perked. An owl had arrived while we had been distracted. A small ribbon-wrapped parcel was under its foot.

Severus and I exchanged glances, our ears perked forward.

"Whoooooo." The owl peered at us.

The owl probably had instructions not to leave until someone had signed for it, and I had the sneaky suspicion that they weren't going to accept a pawprint smudge as a signature.

 _Think they'll take a paw print signature?_ Severus' voice rang in my head, dripping with sarcasm.

 _Doubtful_ , I mused.

Our tails were wagging in amusement as we both snuffled the owl curiously.

 _Think we can open it with our teeth?_ Severus mused, snuffling the package.

 _Think it's drool proof?_ I answered.

 _Kingsley knows better than to send parcels to dire werewolves,_ Severus said with a half-sneeze.

 _He has… he just double boxed and put an anti-drool and anti-venom charm on it,_ I chuckled, making a strange snuffling-growling sound.

The owl stared at us somewhat suspiciously.

 _We could wait for Harry to stop in,_ I suggested. _He was supposed to visit today anyway._

Severus gave me a look that roughly translated to "Potter? Really?" It looked pretty much the same on both human and wolf. Who knew?

 _I do hope he brings a new hat with him_ , I said hopefully, tail wagging.

Severus gave me a look.

I looked upward innocently. _I like hats._

 _I've noticed,_ Severus mused.

I had never noticed that particular fancy before, but my wolf and I were seemingly in perfect agreement that hats were the bee's knees. Just thinking about a hat made me start drooling profusely, sending a trail of foamy venom dripping to the floor like a certain scene from _Cujo._ There were four things that rated my attention and set my tail wagging: food, books, hats, and Severus. Books were iffy in wolf form. Trying to turn pages as a wolf would likely prove to be a challenge. Hrm, there was probably a fifth in there too: Kingsley. There was just something about him that was somehow inherently trustworthy and awe-inspiring. I never doubted that Kingsley had our best interests at heart, and there weren't many I could say were that steadfast and loyal.

My wolf, and I'm sure Severus' too, trusted Kingsley implicitly. We trusted him to guide us when our wolves weren't certain of what to do. There was something powerful in that depth of trust— powerful and reassuring as well.

 _Crack. Crack._

Two Apparitions materialised in the back garden, and there was only a small list of people who could do so freely. Kingsley could and our "handlers" for the day hours when Kings was busy doing Minister for Magic things. Poor guy. I didn't envy him that duty in the slightest, partly because despite his being the Minister, he was still our main handler. He was the only one would _could_. Our day-handlers who checked up on us had a few issues keeping our wolves on their radar.

Kings had done what any self-respecting Minister for Magic who was trying to kick out the Death Eating sympathisers would do: hired his two dire werewolves as his personal bodyguards. I would have, had I had them.

 _Oh, it is Kingsley,_ I said, ears perking towards the sliding door. My tail was wagging happily already. Maybe he would be wearing a hat?

 _Who is that with him?_ Severus asked suspiciously, growling lowly. His hackles were raised, tail straight as a board, and his teeth were showing.

I wasn't quite ready to jump on the defensive bandwagon just yet. I knew there were only a few people who could Apparate into my back garden without setting off every ward on the property. If Kingsley was bringing someone with him, it meant he trusted them— or he was bringing the person for us to beat the living daylights out of them.

Yaxley had once "tagged along" with me to Grimmauld Place via an Apparate. It had not been my best example of following Mad-Eye's "constant vigilance" command. To be fair, I was far more worried about Harry getting away, and I hadn't considered that someone could throw themselves at someone in mid-Disapparate and tag along for the ride. It would be exceedingly dangerous. You could arrive literally in pieces. Who _did_ that kind of thing?

Yaxley, apparently. Not sure if that meant he was stupid, suicidal, or both, but there we go.

Due to the panic Yaxley's unexpected arrival had caused, I'd yanked Ron with me to the Forest of Dean in a chain Apparate-Disapparate once I realised I'd been followed. It hadn't ended well for Ron's skin. I'd never had issues Apparating under stress. Moody had me Apparating in mid-spell, mid-dodge, mid-dinner, and mid-God-save-the-Queen. I'd never before splinched someone— well, until Ron.

What was it about Ron that made things go sideways for me?

Even the simplest things like basic magical functions never worked right between Ron and I. It was like the moment Ron appeared, all of my active brain cells just died off and threw themselves off the nearest mental cliff screaming ** _"NEVERRRRRR!"_**

I kept telling myself I was always being much too hard on the boy. I mean, yeah, technically he _was_ almost an entire decade younger than me.

But Harry was too, and _he_ didn't seem to cause this kind suicidal effect on the brain cells of those around him. Maybe it was just me? Harry was still his friend. Ginny never said she wanted to punch him in the kidneys and leave him naked and hogtied in Knockturn Alley— so why did I feel like that was a fine alternative? The entire allegedly Horcrux-inspired "you and Harry are shagging each other" situation hadn't helped with building a better relationship either. Molly had been utterly convinced that I was the whore of Gryffindor, no thanks to Rita Skeeter, and I had received the world's tiniest Easter egg as a protest for my being such a complete slag. Looking back on it, it was really bloody hilarious, but at the time my mind had settled on complete and utter bafflement.

Much to my relief, Kingsley had _not_ brought Ronald with him. I'm not sure Kingsley could have stopped either of us from piddling all over his trainers. It would've surely ended far worse than that, but it would at least start with the basic demonstration of serious disapproval, wolf-style. Sadly, Ron didn't even have a hat to tear up, so I'd probably move on to tearing apart his robes, gnawing on his belt, burying his wand in the duck pond, and eating his Auror notebook, which every Auror was told they could never lose— or else. Me? Vindictive? I swear I'm perfectly amicable! At least, to non-wankers.

Severus' tail was wagging furiously as he looked at me. I slid my eyes over at him. _You reading my mind, love?_

 _Mmhmm,_ he replied, tail wagging and sporting a rather evil lupine grin.

Figures that talk of torturing Ronald would pique his interest. Probably the only one who might rate more interest would be Neville Longbottom, Severus' favourite student to hate. Some would argue and say that he didn't exactly have any love for _me_ back then, but Neville inspired an emotional need to throttle. Hell, I had wanted to as well, at least in Potions. I'd saved his hide, or rather Trevor's hide, too many times to count. Fortunately, killing Nagini did not require the brewing a passable potion. He did swing a passable sword, though.

As the sliding door opened, Kingsley's guest instantly fell into a kneel, doing the standard don't-try-to-out-alpha-the-wolves introduction. I sniffed the air, but I recognised that all-too-familiar mess of mop-like black hair at once. It was Harry.

Severus gave a soft growl of pure irritation.

I licked the side of his muzzle to distract him from the target of his ire; he snuffled me and gave me a return slurp with interest. I led the charge forward. My keen nose was telling me all sorts of intriguing things about Harry. He had worn his current undershirt to bed and hadn't bothered to change it; I could smell the trace of a light, feminine perfume… something that Ginny was highly unlikely to wear. Very interesting, that.

I could also smell the scent of fresh pine needles on him, mud, and various dried grasses. There was also a slight lingering hint of duck shite around his shoes, so he had probably had a good romp in a public park earlier today. I gave him a proper sniffing over from top to bottom. The boy hadn't bathed this morning, and he had a stronger scent about him. If I had had to track him, it wouldn't have taken much. I could also smell his fear, just below the surface. He wasn't terrified as much as he was unsure what two very large werewolves were going to do to him if he stepped out of line.

There was another scent on his Auror trainee coat— old leather, tobacco smoke, firewhisky, and something else, something eerily familiar—

And then Harry was holding out a hat.

 ** _HAT!_**

I focused on that hat instantly. **_Hat! HATHATHAT!_**

I snatched it from his hand and shook it, and shook it, and shook it some more for good measure. It wasn't getting away from me! I foamed on it, drooled on it, envenomated it. I growled viciously at it, threw it up in the air, snatched it again, and tore into it again. No evil hat was going to get away from me!

Severus was tugging on it too. We snarled, pulling at it together. He snatched it from me, shaking it violently, and I pounced on him, trying to get it back. We snarled; we chased, and fought over it, fangs bared, bits of foaming drool flying everywhere. Finally, the hat ripped in half, and Severus and I flopped together, using our fangs to rip our halves to many, many smaller pieces.

Mmmm. Hats.

The most human part of me was complaining that I'd just torn Harry's hat to shreds, but that was like the buzzing of bees. Like a very faint background noise.

Severus seemed to be indoctrinated into the glory, bliss, and wonder of joyously ripping apart theoretically innocent headgear. The jury was still out on that one. Hats could be harbouring true evil. Well, at least germs and bugs and other pestilential things. But I suppose a hat could be a Dark object, right?

 _Told you so_ , I said, tail wagging furiously.

Severus didn't reply. He was still quite busy using his teeth to rip into the fabric of one very, _very_ dead hat.

After I had my slice of hat torn into a multitude of tiny, itty bitty pieces, I trotted over and gave Harry a wet slurp across the face, making sure it was extra slobbery. I told myself that it was purely in thanks for the glorious hat, but my wolf and I were in perfect agreement that making Harry squirm was job number one.

It was strange and glorious, this fusing of wolf and myself. It felt warm and wonderfully accepting. There was the great, surging love between us, unlike anything that could be explained with inadequate human words. The only thing even close was the bond between Severus and myself, now that we had gotten over the enormous elephant in the room that was our burgeoning relationship.

I wagged my tail, thinking about it. He was a very good and generous lover.

I drooled a little more in true appreciation.

Severus was approaching Harry now, looking intimidating and rather suspicious, but my tail wagged. I knew _exactly_ what he was up to. I could smell the Slytherin mischief on him.

He pulled his lips back from his teeth, exposing his forked tongue in a very unnerving manner, with a sort of evil lupine grin. His hot breath steamed up Harry's glasses, behind which was a set of very wide green eyes. Then, just when it looked like Severus was about to tear his face off with extreme prejudice, he suddenly gave Harry a very drooly slurp and then promptly pounced on me. We tumbled off into the room, rolling all over the floor, bumping into furniture, before finally flopping down in a panting heap next to the fireplace.

Harry was frozen in complete shock, but Kingsley was laughing uproariously. His head was tilted back as he belted out a booming howl of belly-shaking laughter.

Severus and I howled right along with him, filling the room with the echoing resonance of mischievous lupine mirth.

* * *

 _-Harry-_

Kingsley had said that once they were relaxed enough to sleep, there was a good chance that the two of them would spontaneously transform back. It was only a matter of time. We had made the appointment to visit, so the human Hermione and Severus would have known we were coming, but it was pure chance as to which form would have greeted us upon Apparating in.

When the two did transform back, it wasn't like when Remus had transformed in front of us at all. There was the strange, almost unnatural shifting and cracking of realigning and reshaping bones, but it was smooth and apparently painless. Neither wolf appeared to suffer. Kingsley had told me that the shift came with relaxation— always had— which was why Severus had been human that night saving us from Remus. He shifted when he slept on moon nights.

Neither Hermione nor Severus appeared to be in any kind of distress or pain, and when they stirred after waking, they didn't seem uncomfortable at all. I found myself staring at them— Kingsley was sitting nearby, casually reading a book and sipping tea like nothing unusual was going on at all—but I couldn't help but stare like a wide-eyed first year having watched Professor McGonagall instantly shift from a tabby to a witch for the very first time.

It wasn't until I realised I was staring quite— enviously— at Professor Snape's rather impressive bits. Now, logically, I would have realised that he was most definitely and obviously male as a wolf, so it shouldn't have been that big a surprise. Still, I couldn't help staring.

Males are curious creatures, and having been one all my life, I can definitely attest that there are certain things you can't help but compare against other males. Trainer size, height, looks, who seems to attract the most positive attention from the females, and even the depth and timbre of one's voice. Ginny used to confess that she used to imagine Professor Snape reading her bloody bedtime stories. That had kind of broken my mind, to be honest— especially since she had confessed to that _particular_ tidbit before I had pulled my head out of my own arse enough to realise that Professor Snape hadn't actually been the rampaging evil git I had always thought he was. Many of us had wondered what Professor Lockhart had over the female gender— was it some form of sexual magic or true charisma? Hell, even Firenze had a gaggle of girls following him around the school. I remember all too well hearing Lavender Brown giggling with Parvati Patil about how "dreamy" he was.

Me? I couldn't even get a date to the Yule Ball without making a complete honking arse of myself. Later, I had ended up with Ginny because— well, I really wasn't sure about why. She was just _there_ in my life, all the time, so it had seemed like a natural progression. We'd had dates, we got along, and she even pulled me out of my shell a bit, despite the war going on, but I think there was more pressure on her to give me a chance than it was her best choice. Ginny had actually been seeing Theodore Nott after the war, and I had been seeing Luna Lovegood. Neville and Luna had an intense time together at Hogwarts, but they'd found that they just weren't right for each other after awhile. Not that the sex hadn't been totally awesome, but why they had shared _that_ detail with me was certainly beyond me.

Okay, well, I will confess to having used Neville's prior knowledge to please Luna in various ways. She definitely keeps me on my toes. Officially, only Neville knew about my relationship with Luna, but a few people were starting to suspect because Ginny wasn't bothering to hide her trysts with Theo at all. They met in public, were frequently seen out on the town together and now that Rita Skeeter was out of the running on media character assassination, they could do it without ending up with my name plastered all over the _Prophet_ with Hermione always being blamed as the reason why Ginny and I had "obviously" broken it off. Skeeter had never forgiven Hermione for trapping her in a jar and then making her write the truth for an entire year. The actual truth was apparently far more offensive to her.

Skeeter had been the reason why Hermione and Viktor hadn't worked out as a couple. It wasn't that they hadn't really enjoyed each other's company and even had a good shot at making things permanent, but Skeeter had made it her personal mission in life to make Viktor's life a living hell for being with the girl she hated so completely. Hermione had reluctantly brought their relationship to an end, saying that she cared for and valued Viktor far too much to see his reputation go down in flames over something he hadn't even done. They still remained close friends, and now that Skeeter was no longer in any condition to write her sensationalistic drivel, I had been wondering if they might get back together.

At least I had— until I saw Hermione and Professor Snape curled up together in front of the fireplace— entirely naked. Snape's arm had curled rather possessively around Hermione's waist, even as they shifted back to human forms. They had snuggled up together as wolves before the shift back had occurred. I might be just a trainee, but even I can see what's right in front of me pretty well. Their wolves were tightly bound— and it was obvious that their human sides were perfectly fine with that.

Now that I was on the career path as an Auror, and the war was over, Kingsley had filled me in about quite a few things— notably that both Snape and Hermione outranked me— by more than a lot. I knew enough to feel very, very guilty about how many times I'd told Hermione to mind her own business and then not listened to her when I should have. I had the suspicion that both of them didn't just outrank me as an Auror, either. They probably outranked just about everyone at the Ministry, even more so now that Kingsley had named them to his official Minister's Guard. They could go anywhere he could, and that was exactly what Kingsley wanted.

I had told Kings that the only thing I had ever wanted to be was an Auror. Even if I ended up supervising someday, I never wanted to be more than that. My life had suffered enough to know that while I wanted to help people, I wanted to do help in a relatively everyday way. Kings seemed almost relieved, giving me that smile that told me that he really _did_ understand.

The one thing I hadn't told Kings, however, was that I was still in contact with Sirius. The entire going through the Veil had been a very elaborate ruse that had ported Sirius to a safe house somewhere in the Troodos mountain range of Cyprus. I'm not sure why I was still hiding it— perhaps because he was all I had left of my parents, short of Remus. Sirius, however, was my godfather. He was the only family I had left who really wanted to be with me.

Dumbledore had apparently arranged for the real Veil to be moved and a replica put in its place. The replica had specific instructions to dump anyone who went through into one of the empty cells in a particular wing of Azkaban, save for one specific person: Sirius Black. The old headmaster had apparently known I couldn't be trusted to not run off and do something stupid, and had made plans in advance for it. How he had known that the battle was going to happen in that particular place and time, I will never know.

Part of me was nagging at me, urging me to tell Kingsley. We all knew that Sirius had been framed for the mass murder of random Muggles all those years ago. There was no harm in telling him about Sirius. Why then, wouldn't I?

"Had I know this is all that it would have taken to get your attention, Potter, I would have taken an entirely different approach to your education in Potions," Snape said, sarcasm dripping from his words just like his wolf form's mutant venom.

A slender arm shot around Snape's torso and drew him back down towards the floor as a rather hungry-looking Hermione latched onto his neck. Snape's eyes rolled back in his head, and when he fixed me with a very potent stare, I realised I was _still_ staring at him. Blood was rushing to my face and ears in total embarrassment. My best female mate and her, erm, lover were obviously very happy to wake up together in front of me. How do you even respond to that?

He was _your_ professor! My brain was screaming at me, trying to snap me out of it. He was _her_ professor!

Was, I reminded myself. Hermione was a grown witch. She had the right to make her own choices. Merlin knew they were both wicked brilliant. They were both scary powerful— and even Professor McGonagall had wondered if the reason she had driven Snape off during that confrontation in front of the school was because he hadn't wanted to murder her. He had deflected a fire spell to take out Amycus and Alecto Carrow, after all. That took real skill— more than skill.

Professor Snape had taken a lot of horrible things unto himself to save us. It hadn't been until I thought he was dead that I'd really come to terms with that. Coming to terms with the fact that he and my mum had been best mates as children— I realised there was a lot of things I didn't really know about my parents. I knew even less about Professor Snape. Even more ironically, I realized that I knew virtually nothing about my best female mate. Hermione, despite having been my friend for almost a decade now, was quite an enigma. I didn't doubt in the slightest that she would do and had done everything in her power to keep me alive. I did wonder if she viewed me as a friend or just someone who was a real pain in her arse to somehow keep alive.

What do you say to someone who dedicated so much of their life to keeping you from killing yourself via various random acts of stupid?

Thanks?

Somehow that didn't quite seem to cover it.

"Ron's in trouble," I said, trying to shift my thoughts with conversation. I tried to stare at the case of fresh flowers nearby instead of— damn, I was still ogling them.

Hermione's expression turned to a frown. Her lips pulled back from her teeth, perhaps instinctively. She shook her head. "What did he do?" she asked. Kingsley nonchalantly passed them clothes, barely looking up from his book. How did that man do that?

How to put this without painting Ron as an unmitigated arsewipe? "You know Ron and all those celebratory post-war parties, yeah? Well, Ron went out to one last night, got completely knackered and woke up married to Pansy Parkinson, of all people. Lavender Brown saw the rings and tried to murder them both. Ron claims he doesn't remember any bit of it. To top it all off, Lavender is pregnant, or so she says, with Ron's baby."

Hermione's face ran a wide gauntlet of emotions in a matter of seconds.

"Needless to say, Molly is now threatening to kick Ron out of the Burrow, and Auror Trainee Mayflower's pregnancy scan just came back positive," I continued. "She says she's only ever been with one bloke. Guess who," I added a bit lamely.

Hermione's gaze bored holes into me. "You have _got_ to be kidding me."

I swallowed hard and fought the urge to start squirming again. "Fred and George once told me that Weasley genetics made for extremely potent little wrigglers," I confessed. I could feel my face turning very red again. "Apparently, contraceptive charms and potions only have about a fifty percent chance of working, at best, on Weasley men. They said Molly and Arthur tried their best and still ended up with seven children. Can you imagine how many—"

Hermione beat her head against Snape's shoulder.

"Let me guess," Severus' voice rumbled. "Weasley doesn't know how many witches he actually slept with?"

I shook my head ruefully. "He admitted to me that he couldn't begin to guess how many. Merlin, he did try, but all he remembers is having a really great time at the party."

"Harry," Hermione said my name with a sudden gasp, as if I had just kicked Crookshanks. "Did you sleep with Ginny?"

"W—what?" I blurted. "N—no! We never— I mean— we never had the opportunity and I—" Fuck. This was embarrassing as hell. "And I, um, always carried rubbers on me. Just in case."

Hermione gave a deep sigh of relief. "Thank the gods you were raised Muggle," she whispered.

My brain tried to piece together just why she was so relieved.

Hermione and Snape exchanged wry glances. Snape sniffed once, eyes narrowing as he stared at me. His lips pulled back from his teeth as he scented the air, his tongue flicking out in a disturbingly serpentine manner. I can't explain in words just how unnerving that was to watch. It was the action of an apex predator— a predator at the top of the food chain. My response was totally visceral. I felt like a cornered prey animal.

"What my mate here is trying to say politely, and I have qualms about bothering to humour her, is that it is a good thing you didn't stick your manly bits into her and get her pregnant, or your current courtship of Miss Lovegood would be overcast by a child support battle and perhaps the magical equivalent of a shotgun marriage." Snape eyed me with a stare right out of his professor-student stony regard handbook.

My jaw hit the ground. They knew? The scent— oh _fuck_. Nothing was getting by either of them. Kingsley was reading his book, but there was no way he hadn't heard the conversation. Just please murder me. Murder me now and bury my body somewhere— wait, "mate"?!

I had the sinking suspicion that he did _not_ mean mate as in a friend.

"Whoooo."

Severus accepted a parcel from the arriving owl, passing it what could have been a pair of frog legs. The owl hastily made it disappear, as if it was afraid it was a limited time offer. Snape's eyes scanned the parchment that had been folded inside. "Hnn," he said. His eyes flicked over to Hermione, whose eyebrows shot up as if he'd said something startling.

He lifted her hand to his mouth, pressing a kiss to the back of her hand as he slipped something on her finger. "Madam Snape," he said coolly. "It seems we have been married. I fear there is no escape from me, now."

Hermione looked demurely into his face as she plucked something out of the box and slipped it into his finger. "Mmm. Same here, husband."

Snape growled lowly, pressing his mouth to hers with undeniable hunger. His eyes flicked over to me, daring me to say something.

There was no way in Hades I was going to say anything.

He pulled away as Hermione made a soft whine of disappointment, but she stood to go towards the kitchen. Snape, in the meantime, signed the parchment and wrapped it around the owl's leg. He passed it another treat, and the owl snatched eagerly it and flew off, taking his correspondence with it.

Molly was _not_ going to be happy.

Molly didn't even know that Ginny and I had stopped seeing each other. Now, Ron had a multiple-pregnancy crisis, and that didn't even include the fact that Hermione was no longer available. It might be a good idea to stay away from the Burrow awhile. Far away.

A truly heavenly aroma was coming from the kitchen, and I saw Hermione industriously flipping something in a large wok over the stove.

"Beef, chicken, pork, shrimp, or everything, Kings?" Hermione called out.

"Woman, you could cook me giraffe, and I would happily eat it," Kings replied with a grin. He immediately set down his book and moved to the kitchen to join her.

I helped Kings set the table outside in the garden, and a few house elves showed up to set out cold drinks and place colourful cushions on the deck chairs. They set out the tossed salad in the middle of the table, and a very young house-elf— something I'd never before seen in my life— tried to work the cheese grater over the salad bowl with the assistance of an older elf. Then the elves disappeared with a soft pop, leaving no sign of ever having been there.

I found myself with one of those questions I should have asked ages ago, but never did. "What do house-elves eat?"

Kingsley arched a brow at me. "Each family usually gives their elves bits of their normal fare. Traditionally, milk is left out at night, but people like Hermione allow the elves to take whatever they need from the garden and from the things they cook for us."

"Oh," I said. Well, that made sense. It occurred to me that I had never given Kreacher food. I had assumed he didn't eat because he was magical— no wonder the elf took so long to warm up to me. That was why Hermione was always leaving milk out on the counter whenever she stayed at Grimmauld Place. All this time— I had never known. Sirius hadn't exactly given me a handbook when he'd left me with Kreacher. Perhaps, I needed to suck it up and sit down to have a heart-to-heart with Kreacher. I didn't want to be that guy who abused his elves just because he didn't know any better. Ignorance was not an excuse for abuse.

I, of all people, should know better.

When Hermione brought out a huge dish of delicious-smelling shrimp and chicken stir-fry, everything sort of faded away. She was apparently quite the accomplished cook, and I realised I'd never really noticed such things about her before. When we were out in the wilds, she had managed to find everything from wild berries to mushrooms and edible roots, she snared rabbits and other small game for food, even quite a few nice trout when we were near a decent fishing area. She'd even managed to bring us a sizeable stag once, which had admittedly unnerved me somewhat. We'd eaten well for a good month because of that. I'd always assumed it was because of her wide base of book knowledge made useful. Looking back on it, I remember how she always made sure I ate— even if it meant her going without. When Ron had been injured, she had barely eaten at all, seemingly given him her rations for a time. Later, Ronald had simply assumed that was his fair share. Only now, my brain no longer clouded by the effects of long-term Horcrux exposure, did I remember how she'd serve herself such small portions of our meals, just enough so as not to expire, and let Ron and I eat what we could. How many times would Ron and I have died without Hermione's help?

"Hermione, Professor Snape," I said after practically inhaling my dinner.

Both Hermione and Snape looked at me with dual arched eyebrows.

"Thank you," I said with a tired but genuine smile. "For everything."

The exchanged meaningful looks and nodded to me.

"You're welcome, Harry," Hermione said, her familiar smile creeping across her face.

* * *

I don't think Ron was a horrible friend as much as he wasn't a great person to everyone. He was my first friend friend on the train to Hogwarts, and my first link to the magical world. His family was the first thing closest to what a family should be like, at least, what it was supposed to be like in my head. I have no doubt that I had skewed vision of what an idea family would be like, save actually eating with one's family and not living under the stairs in a cupboard, and told to stay perfectly quiet when company came over.

I will admit that my dream of my parents far outweighed the truth of them. I eagerly clung to stories of how great my parents were, and I just as fanatically defended their honour to all comers. I had to in order to stay sane. Why else would I have been the Boy Who Lived instead of The Boy With Shit Parents.

Looking back, I wonder if there was such a thing as fate, or if my world was truly random. Then, I wonder if someone was manipulating things to get that bigger picture. I never once felt I was truly in control. I never felt like I was in charge, and being an Auror, well, that was me attempting to be in charge of my own life. I felt it was my turn to give back to the world and help people just as those who had helped me— without my asking and without being asked.

Ron, I felt, was always stuck trying to be better than his brothers. He was the youngest, and it was slowly killing him not being as good as so and so brother. Also, being the youngest, he rarely had anything new. His sister managed to get new things because she was the only female child of Molly and Arthur Weasley, and I think that just made it worse for him.

At the end of the war, suddenly he was a hero, and unlike me, he thrived on it. I had tried to dodge the fame bullet many, many times. I could see the gears turning in his head whenever Hermione was put in the negative light of the _Prophet_. Her shaming usually painted Ron, me, or Viktor as victims, which, in turn, gave him more attention. Whether he realised it or not, it seemed that whenever Hermione took a hit to her reputation, Ron's got better, and he liked it.

When Hermione had told him she needed space, I don't think Ron took it well. We were heroes, and that meant people were expected us to pair off with each other. And because they had shared a kiss after dispatching the Horcrux down in the Chamber of Secrets, it seemed even more logical. Of course, now I knew why Hermione had wanted the space. Being bitten by a werewolf was not exactly something you wanted people knowing when Rita Skeeter was all too ready to bring that out into the world.

I think Molly had a lot to do with it. She wanted— still wanted— Ginny and I to announce our intentions to the world, but mostly she wanted us to announce our getting married so she could get to planning "all the things." The problem was, we had no intention of doing so. Ginny and Theo very much together. I and Luna were doing famously, and neither of us were ready to tell Molly— not when Ron was up to his neck in pregnancy woes.

Ron had confessed, at least to me, that he'd been seeing Lavender for the last few years. They'd never really stopped seeing each other. She'd forgiven him his Hermione name calling while delirious, having believed that it had been Hermione who had spiked him with Amortentia at the same time as Romilda Vane. The truth was, Ron didn't know what he really wanted in a relationship. He liked the fame and the attention, and he loved having more choices. What he didn't like, however, was having the witches that were paying him attention also pay attention to other people. Yet, contradictorily, he was obviously seeing other witches.

Now, if you were in an open relationship and both sides were okay with it, more power to you, but living a promiscuous relationship life was just asking for trouble, especially if you expected your relationship fellows not to figure it out eventually.

Ronald had, partly due to his mum's pressuring, seen Hermione as the one to marry. She had the fame and the history with him to make it perfectly storybook, at least to those who didn't know diddly about them. Marriage, however, did not mean that he didn't want to find his love on the side like an emperor and his concubines. As for Hermione, if her wolf was any indicator, she'd found exactly what she wanted, and the kind of devotion and attentiveness that could only make me a little envious, even knowing I was with someone.

One thing was for sure, if Ron showed up to visit Hermione any time soon and expected her to cow to his proposal, she would probably laugh in his face— right before punching him. With Professor Snape around, well, he'd be lucky to get out of the house alive.

As it was, Ron was in a world of hurt due to being married to Pansy— who was now Pansy Weasley— and both she, Lavender, and Auror Mayflower were confirmed pregnant. All of which, after thorough checking, were Ron's. Now, amongst most Muggle jurisdiction, you are married to the person you sign the papers with and, short of Child Maintenance, you aren't married to them by default. Unfortunately, thanks to a little remnant of one Dolores Umbridge and the Minister for Magic Fudge, if you have a baby, you're married to them.

Kingsley had been trying to get that bit of horrible law rescinded, along with about a hundred other "little" gems, such as all non-Purebloods being considered "property" where all their assets belonged to the one with more "pure" blood, Muggle-borns having no right for a fair trial, werewolves and centaurs being ruled "beasts" and thus legal to hunt and kill, half-breeds being considered abominations and this legal to kill on sight, and the list went on. Most of them had been caught before they had managed to get into law, thank the gods, but the one that Ronald had found himself in was the "Pureblood right for multiple wives" to "rebuild the magical world."

It didn't take much to see where they were trying to go with that law when looking in combination with the "non-Pure don't have rights". The irony of this was that Umbridge wasn't even a Pureblood, unless you consider inbreeding the litmus test for Pureblood positive. There was definitely some crazy things going on in the Umbridge family tree, murder aside.

As for Lavender Weasley via impregnation, Pansy Weasley by documentation and drunken wedding joined by Preacher Bob from Birmingham, and Auror trainee Bridget Weasley (née Mayflower) — Ron was looking at at least three children, provided there were no twins or triplets, and at least three wives. Lavender was confined to a temporary cell until she faced the Wizengamot for attempted murder of Pansy. Molly was confined to her house for attempting to take out Pansy thinking she was coming in to murder her family, and Trainee Mayflower-Weasley was was so traumatised that she was in Mungo's, possibly having a miscarriage. These were only the witches we had on record.

Kingsley was working on getting a movement through to make it so the entire marriage by impregnation was nullified, but it was slow going and had to be handled on a case by case basis. There were a hundred other things going on at the same time, such as getting the remaining Death Eater sympathisers out of the Ministry. Changing the laws was going to be hard enough without having sympathisers throwing monkey wrenches into the mix.

"Harry, they're killin' me, Harry," Ron said as he held his head in his hands and repeating my name like a mantra. So far, he'd said my name about twenty times in the last two minutes.

I told you to watch yourself, Ron," I said. "Those parties— they aren't there for you, mate. They are there to be seen and be popular."

Ron shook his head. "They want me, Harry," he replied. "I just have to be more choosey is all. Once I get these marriages annulled."

I didn't want to be the one to tell him that even if he did get his marriages annulled, and that was a big if, he'd still be paying through the teeth for child support. Child Maintenance always sounded strange, like if the child's arm hurt, you'd just exchange it for a replacement. Magic was awesome and all, but it wasn't quite to that point yet.

"Ron, mate," I sighed. "You're going to have to face that this isn't going to go away."

"'Mione will make it go away," Ron said, convinced. "She'll just tell them it was a bit misunderstanding, and they'll believe her. After all, we were going to get married. That was the plan."

I wondered how much the Obliviators had taking away from Ron's head and what they had rewritten. I had a pretty good feeling that if Ron knew what Hermione was now— not even including who she was married to— that he'd have a nervous breakdown or try to murder someone. I'm honestly not sure which would happen.

Professor Snape— and I'd probably call him that the rest of my life, even if the man went off and became an expert Cursebreaker— if he wasn't one already. Both Snape and Hermione outranked me in a way that even if I was a full Auror with ten years under my belt, they'd still outrank me. That was all Kingsley had said, well, and that he trusted them implicitly. They were beyond reproach, and if Kingsley believed that, then I sure as hell was going to trust that. He had proven, time and time again, to be a virtually flawless judge of character. He'd also trusted me when very few took me seriously.

Again, I had the inkling that I really should tell Kings about Sirius, but again, I kept pushing that thought to the side. Just when I was ready to storm to Kingsley's office and spill my guts, I'd get a letter from Sirius asking how I was and hoping I was doing well, and all my gumption just left me. Did I want to keep his survival a secret because I couldn't afford to lose him as a connection to my parents? Why _not_ have a relationship with Remus? He wasn't exactly hiding, after all.

"Ron," I interrupted his mumbling with a sigh. "Why are you so determined to try and make Hermione fix all of your problems? She doesn't _need_ your problems. Hell, even _I_ wouldn't touch your problems with a twenty-foot pole. Why do you think Hermione— logical, intelligent, hardworking, loyal-to-a-fault Hermione— would even want to get _near_ you after all this?"

Privately, I wondered if Ron would really be stupid enough to try something with Hermione and end up in an old-fashioned wizarding duel with Professor Snape— the man who Kingsley trusted with his life.

I felt my eyelid twitching.

Would I be able to stop it? Did I even want to? Was it sadistic of me to want to make popcorn and watch? Maybe I should order a round of drinks from Rosmerta and share the love? Even as brassed-off as Molly currently was at her youngest son, she probably didn't want to receive notice that Ron had been obliterated off the face of Creation by the mere twitch of Snape's very finely-tuned eyebrow.

"She's bloody rolling in the galleons, mate," Ron was muttering half under his breath. "Even if every bit of my pay goes for supporting all those kids, we'll still have enough to get our own place—"

"Ron, would you just listen to yourself?" I interrupted. "Please. Just. Stop. Stop!" I grabbed his hands as Ron was flailing them about as he continued to mutter nonsense. "Listen to yourself, mate."

Ron looked at me as if I'd just slapped him upside the head with a tuna. " _What_ , Harry?" He shifted his weight as he threw a shirt on. We'd come in for the checkup together after Auror Savage had insisted that Ron be tested for "the entire gauntlet," which was our slang for "every test you can think of, and a few more." Savage wanted him scanned for _everything_ : Dark Magic, coercive potions, obscure curses and hexes, magical DNA, and everything in-between. If there was even the slimmest chance that Ron's total lack of inhibition and amnesia were due to any form of outside influence, then Savage wanted to know. Hell, _I_ wanted to know. Molly most definitely wanted to know, and I'm certain that Kingsley wanted to know as well, as the paperwork for how to split a single Auror's check between Merlin-only-knew _how_ many witches and their children was going to be a human resources nightmare that would require his personal attention.

"Can you just—" I wasn't sure what I wanted to say. I truly believed there was a decent bloke somewhere inside Ron. He had major issues, but we all had some of those, right? Everyone I knew had something that still haunted them, especially after the war. He had moments when he was downright— noble. It was just really hard to see them right now.

 _Very_ hard to see.

Buried arse-deep in mud hard to see—

A blur of dark fabric suddenly whooshed by me in double as I stood in the doorway. An instinctive need to dive under the closest desk followed shortly after. Two figures, dressed head-to-toe in the deepest, darkest black, glided past me with an eerie lack of discernable footsteps. One, I recognised from almost a decade of mingled fear and loathing. It didn't matter that I knew that the man wasn't the monster I had always imagined him to be— okay, well, he was kind of a bastard— but he wasn't _truly_ evil incarnate. The other I recognised because after a year of living in a tent on the run together, I could recognise that hair from anywhere. That wild mane of curly hair, the slant of the shoulders— I just _knew_.

The restricted access Auror ward of St. Mungo's was an entire floor all by itself. The only people who ever got a bed in there were Aurors, hit wizards and witches, Unspeakables, and high-ranking ministry officials who had been injured while on the job. You didn't get admitted to this floor if you didn't have specific credentials and a very good reason to be there, and watching Kingsley's personal guard walk by without him meant Kingsley was in his secured office surrounded by Aurors, and Hermione and Professor Snape had other official business to attend to.

I tried to think of the man by his first name, but I utterly failed— yet again. Once a professor, always a professor; he was stuck with being Professor Snape forever unless my brain finally managed to somehow reprogram itself. But I knew myself well enough to know that wasn't likely to happen anytime soon.

One thing was for sure. I had to get Ron out of here as quickly as possible, lest there be a really, really ugly confrontation to compound the growing list of problems Ron was having this week. I owed it to Ron to at least try to do so. He was my best mate. He did save my life from the Horcrux trying to drown me. The little itch in the back of mind not so kindly pointed out that we had also tried to obliterate each other in a wand fight in the middle of the woods. It was the Horcrux, I told myself.

Sadly, I wasn't the only one to have noticed the blur of distinctively bushy hair, and Ron had pushed by me. "Mione, here?" he blurted. "I have to go talk to her and get her to listen to me!"

I tugged on his arm. "No, Ron," I urged. "Not here!"

"What do you mean, not here?" Ron blurted. "She's finally come out from her little hiding place, and I'm not going to let this opportunity slip away from me! _Wait_ , is that—?"

"Snape," Ronald growled, his voice instantly going low and dark with fury. "What the _hell_ is that greasy git doing here with _my_ 'Mione?"

Would it be frowned on if I happened to stupefy my best mate in the middle of a hospital ward? Even if it was for his own good— or at least the preservation of his life? How much paperwork would I inflict on myself?

"Let idiots dig their own holes," Proudfoot always said. "Don't let them drag you into them, either."

As much as I would usually agree with Proudfoot every other time, this was _Ron_. Ron was the undisputed master of saying things in the heat of the moment that he would later be eating his own trainers over shortly after.

My hand slid to where my wand was hidden in the sleeve of my robes.

Sorry, Ron. This is for your own good.

Just as I was carefully moving forward to stun my best mate, which I swear was for his own good, a healer with an incoming gurney from the intake zone blew by me, knocking me aside and sending me sprawling into an instrument table.

"Sorry, friend," the healer muttered as he zoomed by.

Damnation! Ron had already disappeared down the hall before I could even straighten myself up again.

All I heard was, ** _"Oi! Snape! Get your slimy Death Eater hands off my 'Mione!"_**

Yeah, I definitely should have stunned him when I had the chance.

* * *

 ** _War Hero Ronald Weasley Told to Bugger Off!_**

 _War Hero Ronald Weasley has had quite a week. Early this week, the war hero woke up married to a truly shocking number of witches due to the current pregnancy-and-marriage laws. Ronald Bilius Weasley is currently married to both Pansy Weasley (née Parkinson) and Lavender Weasley (née Brown). While we had received word that Auror trainee Weasley had also married via impregnation to his fellow Auror trainee, Bridget Mayflower, it has been discovered that the records at the Ministry were tampered with and that matter is currently under investigation._

 _Thanks to our Minister for Magic, Kingsley Shacklebolt, an investigation into the trainee's records revealed certain suspect inconsistencies, and agents were sent to confirm this via her medical records at St Mungo's. Auror trainee Mayflower relief was palpable. When we asked Trainee Mayflower for her reaction to this discovery, her response was, "Oh, thank Merlin! I was ready to take responsibility for going to that horrid celebration, but I wasn't ready for marriage, babies, and all of the headaches that go along with it! I just wish I knew why someone would want to make it look like I was pregnant. Who does that kind of thing?"_

 _Ronald Weasley's two confirmed wives, Pansy and Lavender, apparently got into a rather spectacular catfight when Lavender found Ronald in bed with his other wife, Pansy. Lavender is currently awaiting her trial in front of the Wizengamot, and Pansy is currently at St Mungo's receiving treatment for multiple dueling lacerations and potions to regrow the significant amount of hair that Lavender apparently pulled out by the roots. It has been confirmed that both witches are carrying Ronald's unborn children, so the double marriage is legally binding. As to whether either of these witches will survive this rather unconventional arrangement, well, only time will tell._

 _To add to the drama, Auror trainee Weasley apparently confronted two of Minister Shacklebolt's personal guards while on other business at St Mungo's. Weasley called Severus Snape a "slimy Death Eater," called his new wife, Hermione Granger-Snape, a foul epithet that we cannot print as a family newspaper, and had "the unmitigated gall to lay his hands on her" as stated by Healer Dunworthy, who happened to be on duty at the time of this unfortunate incident. Other witnesses of the ensuing altercation expressed that Auror trainee Weasley's actions were "no way for a wizard to treat a witch, most especially the wife of another wizard and that "such disgusting behaviour is highly inappropriate for one who would seek to make a career in magical law enforcement."_

 _Severus Snape challenged Ronald Weasley to a duel of honour for daring to cast undue aspersions upon his wife's character. When the smoke finally cleared, Severus Snape was the clear victor. Rather than the traditional taking of his opponent's life, Mr Snape demanded that Weasley "stay the hell away from my wife in perpetuity or I will not be so lenient should there be a next time."_

 _"There has been more than enough loss of life in our world due to the lengthy Voldemort wars," Mr Snape stated as the results of the duel were officially recorded. "All he needs to do is stay away from my wife, and I will consider this distasteful matter settled."_

 _"He's Imperiused her!" Trainee Weasley insisted after being physically removed from the premises. "There is no way she'd marry that horrible, greasy Slytherin git!"_

 _When asked about the aftermath of the duel, Hermione Granger-Snape just shook her head rather sadly._

 _"I never thought I'd hear those words from Ronald, of all people," she told us. "I guess it just proves that growing up with someone doesn't always mean you truly know them."_

 _Mr Weasley is currently on suspension from the Auror training program due to the altercation, and he has been required to submit himself to a registered mind healer for a battery of mental health examinations within the week. He is currently under house arrest, under bond of Mr and Mrs Arthur and Molly Weasley. How this will affect his ability to provide for his two newlywed wives and their future children is currently unknown._

 _"Some people are just not cut out to be Aurors," Auror Proudfoot stated. "You see it a lot when you train people. They have the drive for justice but don't know how to successfully interact with people, and being a good Auror requires a respectable proficiency in both skills. Sometimes, an Auror has such great skill on one area that it overshadows their lack of people skills, but now, especially after the war, people skills are a very big part of our job. Just because you don't make it as an Auror doesn't mean that you're a failure. It just means the job isn't for you. Not everyone can be an Auror, just like not everyone can be a Cursebreaker or a Hit Wizard. Me? I really wanted to be dragon trainer. As it turns out, I was way better at being an Auror. We all have to assess our personal strengths to find our best fit in life."_

 _"Being an Auror is an awful lot of hard work, and it's more than a little stressful," Proudfoot continued. "We have crap hours sometimes, we keep working until the job is done, which often takes us away from our families when we'd rather be home helping raise our kids right. Our partners see us far more than our wives or husbands, and we usually end up sleeping in the barracks at the office instead of in our own beds at home. My wife is a very special kind of person. She shares me with my job, and she still loves me in the morning. That's what happens when you marry an Auror. You marry the wizard or the witch and their career as well. My wife is a truly special lady, and I greatly admire Mr Snape for keeping his temper and self-control during that duel. I'm not sure I could have done half as well in his shoes. Insult my lady and I'll rip you apart, you can be very certain of that."_

 _When fellow war hero, Harry Potter, was asked to comment on the situation at St Mungo's, all he would say was, "I don't know what's going on in my best mate's head right now. I don't even think he does. What I do know is that there is a good bloke in there somewhere, but war— it really changes some people. Sometimes, we see enemies everywhere. We wake up in the dead of night with our wands clutched tightly in our hands, sweating, screaming, or thinking the ones we love are dead and gone. We desperately want someone to blame or some way to justify how we feel, but the truth is, there is no right way to feel after a war. Sometimes, we just need time to figure it all out. I hope that time will allow Ron find his own way there. He saved my life, and I saved his. Hermione saved us both. Severus Snape saved us all. We survived, but we were all terribly afraid in some way. Please give Ron the time and space to figure it all out. It's something he has been too busy to do up to this point. I think Hermione made the best choice in the end— asking for privacy and a bit of time to sort things out. Ron may not be asking for it himself, but I would ask you to please do so on his behalf. Remember this: You build on failure. You use it as a stepping stone. Close the door on the past. You don't try to forget the mistakes, but you don't dwell on it. You don't let it have any of your energy, or any of your time, or any of your space."_

 _When asked what keeps the heroic Harry Potter grounded, the wizard smiled warmly._

 _"I have a wonderful witch who bakes me chocolate biscuits in the shape of Crumple-Horned Snorkacks," he said with lop-sided grin. "We rarely see eye-to-eye, but we always agree to disagree. We always love each other in the end. She is my balance, my anchor, and my voice of reason when I get full of myself. I couldn't ask for anything more."_

 _When asked what a Crumple-Horned Snorkack looks like, Mr Potter replied with a rather mischievous grin, "Like the biscuit."_

* * *

 **A/N:** Gardens don't plant themselves, but damn it would be easier if they did.

 **A/N II:** The last part of Harry's comments about Ron were a quote from the late singer Johnny Cash.

 _"You build on failure. You use it as a stepping stone. Close the door on the past. You don't try to forget the mistakes, but you don't dwell on it. You don't let it have any of your energy, or any of your time, or any of your space."_


End file.
